


Alert and Oriented Times Zero, But I'm CAM Positive I Like You

by nhixxie



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: HR be spinning where they sit, M/M, Malec, always be skirting the limits of patient-nurse relationship, balletdancer!magnus, but as a nurse I promise it doesn't cross any really bad lines, hospital!AU, just lots of cuteness and maybe something explicit in the end, lots of medical sexual innuendos, nurse!alec, this is multi-chapter but will only be around three to four chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-07-27 08:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 53,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20042758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhixxie/pseuds/nhixxie
Summary: “Hi,” Magnus Bane semi-drawls, eyes half-lidded and blinking up at him (dare Alec say) enchantingly, “Are you my nurse?”“Yes.” Alec answers after a mind-focusing cough, “My name is Alec. I’ll be taking care of you today.”The corners of Magnus’ mouth lifts into a smile that gets Alec’s heart thrashing within its cage, his head lolling sideways against his pillow. He looks at him with eyes that are soft with sincerity.“You can take care of me any way you want, Alec.”Alec has been a nurse for five years, and he's pretty sure he's never seen anyone shoot his shot the way Magnus Bane has done the last hour. Alec looks at his watch.Jesus.He has eleven more hours of this shift to go.





	1. You can take care of me any way you want, Alec.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to my first ever Malec fic! I've been wrenched out of writing limbo by this ship and I hope some of the people watching out for my writing are fellow Malec fans too. If you aren't take this fic as an invitation! This fic isn't as serious as the others I've written, so you can unclutch your heart, and is mostly just a big ol' brain dump of Magnus and Alec if they were in my place of work, lmao. This fic WILL get a bit technical since I can't help it as a nurse myself, but it shouldn't impede your reading experience. Some terms I will place on these notes to get it out of the way. Also, this is technically a one-shot but just spread out into smaller chapters for easier consumption. Most of the story is finished, and I will be posting chapters every second or third day or so.
> 
> 1\. The title is a reference to an assessment of a person's neurological status. Alert and Oriented x 3 means alert to name, place, and date, and generally oriented to the context of their hospitalization. A/O x 0 means complete confuision. The CAM assessment is an assessment tool for delirium. CAM positive is delirous, and CAM negative is non-delirious. The title is a word play on both.  
2\. A foley catheter is a urinary catheter connected to a bag.  
3\. A Vocera badge is a small clip on telephone/walkie talkie used to communicate with ward hospital staff.  
4\. Chest tubes are tubes that are placed within the chest cavity to empty out fluid.  
5\. Fibreoptic Intubation is putting a breathing tube into the airway of a patient.  
6\. Fentanyl is a potent intravenous narcotic used in the hospital for pain control.  
7\. Health Care Aids are hospital staff who helps patients with activities of daily living.
> 
> I work in Canadian Health Care so all of the terms I use may differ from other countries. I'll add more if needed as I post more chapters!
> 
> Also, I'm on twitter @nhixxie if you want to talk about this fic with me, and just for shits and giggles I'll be following #aox3fic and posting tidbits there!

  
  


Alexander Lightwood didn’t go to nursing school for this.

“Come on now, Mr. Falchuck,” He says carefully, hands held out in front of him like a gesture would placate an extremely delirious patient, “Nobody’s trying to assassinate the president.”

Mr. Greg Falchuck of Brooklyn, New York glares at him with wide eyes, index finger pointing accusatorily in the air. “No, no, that’s exactly what they want you to believe!”

_Jesus Christ_, Alec thinks his exasperated groan, a hand passing over his face in complete exhaustion.

“Mr. Falchuck, listen to me.” Alec says, one more time, with the last pinprick of patience he has left in his soul, “You’re in the hospital. You have a lung infection. And if you move any further from your bed you will rip off your peeing catheter and _I hope to god_ you realize how bad that would be.”

Greg Falchuck narrows both eyes at him and his gaze falls back onto the catheter bag still hooked on the railing of his bed. Alec rigidly stands there, eyes urgently flicking back and forth between his delirious, pneumonia-ridden patient and the length of tubing that is slowly getting tauter and tauter by the second.

As Alec patiently waits for the situation to unfold, he manages to incredulously think in between the seconds of trepidation that consists of this moment. _Is this actually my life? Seriously?_

He isn’t given much time to mull the thought around. To Alec’s absolute horror, Greg Falchuck scrambles to turn and immediately makes a beeline for the door. Alec jams his eyes close because he refuses to witness a foley catheter being ripped of a patient’s damn urethra, but realizes his reflexes has kicked into high gear at the same time.

He feels himself hit the floor.

Alec opens his eyes gingerly, sees Greg Falchuck scurry away like a penguin released from the zoo, urine bag trailing behind him. He sees his own right arm outstretched before him, like a batter running for the fourth base head-first. He realizes he had popped the urine bag off the bed railing before Greg Falchuck could even take his first step. He breathes through his mouth, gobsmacked. He can still hear Greg from afar, wailing on the top of his lungs about how the _Soviets are coming, the Soviets_, like he doesn’t have half a liter of fluid sitting on his chest.

He jabs a finger over his vocera badge and waits for the pinging sound of its activation.

“We have a runner. Room 50 bed 1. Somebody find him.”

Alec slumps his head on his outstretched arm. 

“Fucking kill me now.”

Clary looks at Alec, wide-eyed.

“You look like absolute shit.” She says honestly, and somehow, she still makes it sound like it’s from a place of concern.

Alec huffed, nonetheless, hands on his waist. “You would too if your delirious patient could outrun a fucking gazelle!”

They look at each other for a while, lips pursed.

“NOT IT!!” They both say, only that Clary is half a second faster.

“Dammit, Fray.” Alec whines, collapsing on the roller chair parked in front of a computer. “I can’t have another shift like this tomorrow.”

Clary looks at him sadly, hand on her heart. “Oh, my poor Alec.” She takes her fingers and pinches his cheek endearingly. “Then you need to get better at saying ‘not it’ faster.”

Alec rolls his eyes, batting her hand away.

She’s still giggling by the time he’s done charting the complete mess of a shift he’s had, and yet, there’s still eight more hours to go.

He slumps over his chair and dumps both legs over Clary’s lap.

Alec’s said it before, and he’ll say it again.

“Fucking kill me now.”

Alec has no patience whatsoever for people who thinks nursing is a second-class job.

He thinks this resurgence of nurse belittling is in part of the five hundred different doctor shows on television, and how it has aggrandized the role doctors actually play in patient-care settings. Alec once flips onto an episode of a show he refuses to learn the name of, and watches the unusual scene of two actual surgeons walking a patient down the hall. He snorts. Yeah, right. He remembers calling his sister, a cardiac surgery nurse, and telling her to change the channel to NBC. They’ve been laughing at that joke of a scene ever since. 

He doesn’t hate doctors, not really. 

So many in his family are. 

His best friend, Jace, just started his first year as an orthopedic doctor. His mother is a pediatric surgeon. His father an anaesthesiologist. They’re all kind-hearted, intelligent individuals, but they don’t monitor patients every hour to ensure they’re still breathing. They don’t insert IVs or remove chest tubes. And they don’t sit by a patient’s bed side when they’re in a body numbing bout of severe depression.

They’re not there when a seventeen-year-old patient admitted for radial fracture receives the news that his mother has passed away the night before.

They’re not there when a homeless person is recuperating from septic shock, and he doesn’t know where he’s going to get money for the seven medications he’s going to be placed on when he gets discharged. 

They’re not there to hold a grieving daughter in their arms when her mother finally passes away after six months of fighting pancreatic cancer. 

Alexander Lightwood went into nursing school for exactly this.

He knows he doesn’t show it all that often. If someone is to describe Alec at work, it would most probably be ‘tall, dark, and grumpy’. He has very much mumbled ‘fuck this shit’ more than five times in one shift, and he knows that sometimes his countenance towards condescending family members could be described as downright unpleasant. But he loves the job. He loves the job despite the heartache it sometimes leaves at the pith of his chest. He loves it despite the gruelling hours and the havoc it wreaks onto his immune system. And he loves it despite the number of times he’s had to run for the door to keep a confused patient from streaking the lovely people walking the streets of Brooklyn.

Alec hitches his backpack over his shoulder to ease the ache that settles on his muscles. _It’s gonna be a tough one today_, he thinks, already knowing how much ibuprofen he’s going to down in order to get through the twelve-hour day shift. 

He pushes through the door of CR4, and is already met by a code blue cart being wheeled into a patient room. He sees Simon, the respiratory therapist, crack the plastic tag and pull out the fibreoptic intubation tray. 

“Good morning, sunshine!” Simon greets with a smile while nudging the drawer close with his foot, “Welcome to the happiest place on earth.” He laughs, and Alec almost does the same.

_Jesus Christ_, Alec thinks, almost fondly.

“Good to be here.”

“Alec, got a sec?” Maia calls from the desk, one hand waving him over, the other pressing the phone against her ear.

Alec drags a vital signs machine a few steps forward. “Yeah, I’ll be right there—hands off Fray,” he warns, seeing a flash of red ghost over his shoulder. Sphygmomanometers are hot commodities in the unit at the hour of eight o’clock in the morning. There is no way he’s forking over the machine he’s been trying to find for the last fifteen minutes.

Alec waves away the teasing you suck from Clary and heads off to the desk, machine in tow. 

“What’s up?” he asks, leaning over the ledge above the nursing station desk.

“Is room 20 bed 1 ready for discharge?” Maia asks, chewing her bottom lip.

Alec raises one brow. “Yeah?”

Maia looks at him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Alec, I gotta give you the admission.”

Alec shrugs. “Why are you sorry?”

Maia slumps her shoulders, one hand massaging a knot on her shoulder. “I don’t know, I just don’t like throwing wrenches into people’s days. And god knows we’ve been working short for the last two weeks.”

Alec smiles a small smile, tapping the ledge twice. “Don’t worry, I can handle the heat.”

There’s a hidden thank you in the way Maia smiles back at him. “He’s coming up in a few. Emerg should be calling to give you report. Also, just so you know he’s not our usual medical patient. He’s an overflow from orthopedics. They’re short on beds over there.”

Alec takes out his sheets and clicks open his pen. “What’s the name?”

“Magnus Bane and he’s going to room 34.”

Alec’s brows rise slightly. _That’s one hell of a name._

“Okay.” Alec says, “I got this.”

When Alec sees Magnus Bane lying on the hospital bed after being transported from the emergency department, he blanches.

Magnus Bane, to be completely frank, was fucking hot.

Alec knows from report that Mr. Bane is a ballet dancer, being that his admission into the hospital is because of a grotesque tibial fracture after landing inappropriately from an overshot ‘grand jeté’. Alec, too busy to even make the calculation in his head, doesn’t expect him to be so arrestingly good-looking.

“Hi,” Magnus Bane semi-drawls, eyes half-lidded and blinking up at him (dare Alec say) enchantingly, “Are you my nurse?”

“Yes.” Alec answers after a mind-focusing cough, “My name is Alec. I’ll be taking care of you today.”

The corners of Magnus’ mouth lifts into a smile that gets Alec’s heart thrashing within its cage, his head lolling sideways against his pillow. He looks at him with eyes that are soft with sincerity.

“You can take care of me any way you want, Alec.”

Alec burns like a Californian forest fire. His eyes widens and his jaw grows slack, small mutterings escaping his mouth but not really forming any words. Over all, he forgets to say anything substantial before he bounds out of the room, blood rising into his cheeks like the damn Nile post-Moses’ staff. He inhales into his nose and exhales out of his mouth, as if the breathing technique can erase the most embarrassing moment of his professional life from face of the earth.

He grabs his sheets from his pocket and flips to the report the emergency nurse rattled off through the phone.

_Unstable, fractured tibia from ballet dancing. Temporary fiberglass splint applied until X-ray and CT scan completed. Alert and oriented x 3. CAM negative. Received 100 mcg fentanyl for pain management—_

Alec looks up from his sheets and turns to peer at his patient from outside the room.

Magnus Bane, all narced up and riding a harmless high, giggles to himself, “I’ve got a cute nurse.. Lucky me..”

Alec’s face crumples in frustration, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

_Oh god_, he groans in his head, _I don’t got this_.

The first time Alec actually gets some semblance of a break is two hours after, when he drops onto the chair in front of the first empty computer he sees by the nursing station to chart. 

Clary’s fingers pause their almost mechanical typing, and Meliorn stops ripping small packets of individual medications. They both cast a full look over to where Alec is sitting in disbelief, eyes on the monitor in front of him.

"Hey buddy,” Clary chirps, letting a small smile sit on her lips, “You okay?”

Alec sharply turns to the both of them. “How much sexual innuendos is enough sexual innuendos?”

Clary raises a brow. “I would hope a minimum of three in this professional work setting?”

Meliorn chuckles. “No number of sexual innuendos is too much if you know how to swat them out of the way.”

Clary’s smile breaks into a grin. Alec hates the pure happiness he sees. “Is your new patient putting all the moves on you?”

Alec furrows his brow. “He’s all loopy from the fent.”

“Heard he’s a ballet dancer.” Meliorn whistles.

Alec tries not to groan. “Mel, please.”

“Heard he’s good looking.” Maia calls out from the charge nurse desk.

“Can we please focus on the task at hand?” Alec interrupts amongst the ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s “Anyway, I need someone to put an IV in him.” 

“Isn’t that your specialty, vein master?” Meliorn curiously asks, returning to his pills.

Alec doesn’t want to talk about it. (_“I’m gonna have to give you a poke, okay?” “Oh Mr. Lightwood, I thought you’d never ask.” “Mr. Bane— “Go ahead, I’ve got a high tolerance for pain.” Wink. Alec feels like screaming._) 

“Today’s not my day.” He chooses to say instead.

Clary dramatically gasps, both hands over her mouth like a Victorian-era lady who is bestowed the biggest gossip in town. “What? IV king Alexander Lightwood misses twice in a row?”

“Yeah, yeah, rejoice while you can.” Alec says, waving a hand, “Don’t come to me when you need shift switches.”

Clary laughs, taking the IV insertion tray from where Alec has abandoned it. “What gauge do you want?”

“A twenty, please.” Alec mumbles under his breath as he types his login information into the charting computer, “He’s got juicy veins.”

Everybody’s heads turn to him like they’ve all gotten simultaneous whiplash.

Alec realizes what has escaped from his lips and chooses not to acknowledge it. “What?”

“Keep it in your scrubs, Lightwood!” Clary calls out before walking away, focusing on the task at hand.

Alec takes his water bottle and takes five gulps at a time, his hand automatically raising to his forehead to swipe a bead of sweat away. It is no secret that in a drunken night out with his work friends, Alec has shared with them all with a secret so heavily guarded he’s gone through his entire life without really acknowledging it.

_I’ve got a vein kink_, he thinks miserably to himself.

It doesn’t even soothes his burnt soul when Clary barges into the pharmacy room ten minutes later, bumps hips with him, completely in awe.

“You’re completely right! Juicy!” she gushes, eyes wide, “And dammit Alec, he’s gorgeous! We’ve been blessed! I can’t believe we have a hot thirty something year old in a geriatric medicine unit! Call me if you need somebody to insert a foley catheter in him!” she giggles, a joke so far-fetched Alec doubts she really means it.

“Clary, gross, get out of here!”

Clary giggles even harder, doubling over. “Okay, okay, I’ll reserve that pleasure for you then.” She winks, yelping when Alec surges forward to pinch her in the arm.

Alec laughs under his breath as he accesses the pyxis machine.

Nurses are awful and it’s a hard day to be gay today.

_ _

_ _

_ _It’s twelve o’clock, right at noon, when Alec has found another reason to stop by Magnus Bane’s room._ _

_ _For most of the day, in house staff have been coming in and out to see the patient, each of them with a prescribed set of orders Alec has to complete outside of the patient room. It is truly a hidden blessing, to be wrenched out of that room for a valid purpose, because this morning has been all kinds of havoc wrecked onto Alec’s psyche._ _

_ _This has not been the first time Alec has been hit on by patients. _ _

_ _Most these come-ons are from elderly, delirious ladies who were all old enough to be the matriarchs of their family tree, and so most of these comments were mostly harmless. If anything, Alec reserves his best smiles for the eighty-year-old grandmas who are stuck in the hospital in limbo, too sick for home but too stable for the ward. Georgina, who is nearing her sixth month in the hospital, is his favorite. Sweet like molasses, she has endless stories to tell about her time as one of the first female aircraft repair technicians in New York. Her daughter and her family always bring in treats for the nurses and health care aids. They always tell him he’s Georgina’s favorite nurse, and it’s not just because he’s, as Georgina would say, _easy on the eyes_. _ _

_ _There’s a reason why Alec prefers to work in geriatric medicine despite the low level of acuity. _ _

Alec, for most part, knows the ease he has with younger patients, and he’s just not ready to be met by compliments coming from patients he could possibly meet outside of work. He’s always erected a divide between his professional and personal life, and the only people who are truly free to cross the borders are Clary, Isabelle, and Jace. There has always been a reason not to engage in possible relationships, or _put himself out there_ as the old adage says. 

_ _He’s comfortable in his aloneness, and so far it has been working for him. _ _

_ _Why rock the boat now?_ _

_ _Alec sees the porter wheel Magnus Bane down the hall towards his room, and Alec walks toward their general direction to meet them. He notes the more postured way his patient is holding himself against the raised head of the stretcher, and there’s a little bit more awareness in his eyes than before. When Mr. Bane catches Alec’s eyes, he smiles a small smile, a sheepish embarrassment cutting through the remaining dopiness brought about by the narcotics._ _

_ _Alec squashes a laugh, and replaces it with a small smirk._ _

_ _Oh, how the tables will turn._ _

_ _

_ _

_ _Alec gives his patient a moment to get settled back into bed before slipping past the door of the private room, giving the porter a polite nod on his way in. He closes the door and draws the curtain on his way in._ _

_ _Magnus Bane’s eyes only flickers to Alec standing by the curtain like he fails to see him the first time, then fully averts his gaze from the cellphone he holds in both hands._ _

_ _“Hi,” Mr. Bane says suddenly, cutting the silence. There’s still a slight drawl still permeating his words, albeit mostly clear in his pronunciation. “My name is Magnus.”_ _

_ _Alec raises both brows at what he could only describe as mild embarrassment on his patient’s face. That 100 micrograms of fentanyl must be have been a potent courage booster. _ _

_ _“I know.” Alec says, smiling small, “I’ve gotten report.”_ _

_ _“Oh. Of course.” Magnus coughs, eyes pinched shut for a few seconds, like the remaining narcotic in his blood stream still making his vision double. “I’m still a bit..”_ _

_ _“High?” Alec supplies nicely, walking closer, and he could see Magnus shift his good leg under his sheets, the first nervous tick he’s noticed on his patient._ _

_ _Magnus nods, throat dry. “Yeah.”_ _

_ _“I gathered.” Alec answers as he settles a medication cup of pills on the side table by the bed. “How much of this morning do you remember, Mr. Bane?” he asks, trying to squash the light laugh that’s bursting from his chest._ _

_ _Magnus’s face slowly changes color, and it’s an entire spectacle in Alec’s eyes. “A little here and there.” He says, and there’s a roughness in his voice. _ _

_ _“Okay.” Alec fights past the humour threatening to break into his voice, “I’m going to have to do a neuro check and ask you a bunch of questions. Just to see where you’re at.”_ _

“What’s your full name?” Alec asks, reaching for his pen light and shining a light into one of Magnus’ pupils.

_ _“Magnus Bane.” Magnus answers, and of course he’s hyper aware of how close Alec has hovered towards him._ _

“What day is it today?” Alec continues, shining the light over the Magnus’ right pupil.

_ _“29th of July?” Magnus answers with the same rough voice, “2019?”_ _

_ _Alec clicks his penlight close, but doesn’t pull away. “Last question.” He bears his gaze straight into Magnus’ eyes and says, “How cute is your nurse today, would you say?” he shrugs, fingers pinching his own arm to stop himself from bursting into laughter._ _

_ _Magnus groans, slumping his head onto his pillow, the consequences of his narcotic-driven flirting finally coming back to stare at him in the face. _ _

“10 out of 10.” He answers morosely, and Alec just looks at him, _go on_.

Magnus stares pleadingly back, _end my life, will you?_

Alec shrugs again, _I don’t know what you’re talking about_.

_ _Magnus sighs, defeated. “Would bang if possible.”_ _

Alec, finally, allows himself the full belly laugh he’s been dying to let go of, eyes closing completely as the they gently crinkle at the corner, a hand settling softly on his chest. He settles his other arm onto the side table, letting it support almost all of his weight. The table buckles, and pills fly into the air, with a _holy shit_ mingling with it.

_ _“Are you happy now?” Magnus chuckles, picking off a pill that landed on his blanket, and dropping it into the medication cup Alec has picked up from the floor._ _

_ _Despite the mess, Alec emerges from it with a victorious smile on his face. “Oh, heck yeah.” He manages through a chuckle, “Do you know how hard you made my morning?”_ _

_ _Magnus smirks, “Incredibly hard, I bet?”_ _

_ _Alec rolls his eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Okay, okay. Calm down. We just got back on the right foot.”_ _

_ _“Well, now that I know you’re a cool guy, I don’t have to put so much restraint on my comments.” Magnus says, the makings of a grin blooming on his lips._ _

_ _Alec laughs. “If that’s what you call comments with restraints, then I don’t want to know what those without ones would sound like.”_ _

_ _“Okay, you won’t hear them from my lips.” Magnus full on grins, making a graceful motion out of zipping his mouth and throwing away the key. “I get this is a work setting for you. I won’t allow such a beautiful health care professional be unfairly stripped of his employment.”_ _

_ _There’s a glint Alec sees in Magnus’ eyes at the word ‘stripped’, and he looks at him pointedly, but with soft amusement._ _

_ _Magnus waves a hand. “Okay, starting now.”_ _

_ _“What’s your name again?” Magnus asks, grin settling into a smile._ _

_ _“Alec.”_ _

_ _“Alec..?” Magnus prods, and Alec relents, because why not._ _

_ _“Alexander.” He pauses, “Lightwood.”_ _

_ _Magnus nods, lips still curled into a pretty smile. “Alexander Lightwood. Nice to properly meet you.”_ _

_ _When Alec steps out of the room, his heart thunders a maddening applause. _ _

_ _It’s been a while since he’s had a crush._ _

_ _Maybe work life will be the slightest bit brighter from now on._ _

_ _

_ _

_ _The next day, Alec looks at his assignment on the board and sees room 34 along with four more patients. _ _

_ _Maia pats a hand on his shoulder, almost spilling the first sip of coffee Alec has guided into his mouth._ _

_ _“You know,” she says, as Alec sputters at the fire that burns his throat, “There’s a special place in hell for people who have successful meet-cutes.”_ _

_ _“You made this assignment.” Alec shoots back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand._ _

_ _Maia shrugs. “Don’t ever tell me I didn’t do anything for you.”_ _

_ _The night charge nurse calls for huddle at the desk and rattles of the morning tidbits: 26 patients in the ward, 2 confused patients at room 12, bed 1 and bed 2, both of which are going to be looked after by one close observation health care aid. Room 8 bed 2 and room 12 bed 1 remain their ACP Ms, and they have one ACP C at the room 40, a private room. There are 6 nurses on the floor not including the charge nurse, 3 health care aids which is a miracle on its own, and their ward clerk will be coming in ten minutes late due to her subway line breaking down for half an hour._ _

_ _“Hey tall man!”_ _

_ _Aline, one of the nurses from the night shift, bumps elbows with Alec, except hers lands on his hip instead. _ _

_ _“What’s up, short stop?” Alec grins, taking Aline’s head and locking her in one arm. “How was your night?”_ _

_ _“It’s okay.” She laughs, pushing Alec away as she fumbles for her sheets. “Wiped some butts, explained to a patient that she is in fact not a werewolf, and had a little fun with our room 34 over there.”_ _

_ _Alec raised a brow at the word ‘fun’. “How much fun?”_ _

_ _Aline grins. “We talked about you.”_ _

_ _“Right.” Alec says slowly, “Like I’m to believe anything that comes out of your lying mouth.”_ _

_ _“He’s smitten for you, dude!” Aline squeals, reaching over to thump him in the shoulder, “He wanted to know what your favorite pastry is so he can get some delivered for the ward! He’s been asking about protocols about asking his nurse’s number! Big ol’ gay crush!”_ _

_ _Alec is about the raise a finger at her, but Aline whacks it away, “Shut up, I get to say that, I’m gay.” She scrunches up her face in thought. “Though I think he may swing both ways. My radar is finely tuned.”_ _

_ _“Okay, do you wanna go home or what?” Alec asks, humour in his voice, “Because we can just talk about this forever. You don’t want to sleep after twelve hours of working right? That doesn’t sound like a thing you’d like.”_ _

_ _“Okay, lanky limbs, I’m getting there.” Aline shoots back, finally turning her sheets to Magnus Banes’ report._ _

_ _It’s pretty much the same deal as yesterday, except Magnus has completed his CT scan and they’ve found a complication in the way his fibula has bent when he sustained the tibial fracture. The orthopedic surgeon wants a bone scan, and then make a definitive decision between an internal fixation or a fiberglass cast. _ _

_ _“There is one thing though.” Aline says, before dropping the volume of her voice, “He’s been refusing his stronger narcotics. He can’t have any NSAIDs and he’s been trying to get by with Tylenol and a T#3 if he gets too uncomfortable, and even then, he’s diaphoretic and tachycardic even after the medications should have kicked in.”_ _

_ _“He was really loopy with the fent yesterday.” Alec comments under his breath, “Maybe he just doesn’t want to be delirious again?”_ _

_ _Aline nods slowly. “Could be. But I don’t know, I feel like there’s something more. Maybe you can figure it out.”_ _

_ _Alec feels determination swell in his chest like a rising tide. “Yeah, I’ll try.”_ _

_ _

_ _

_ _“Alexander!” Magnus greets, face breaking into a true smile. “Are you with me again today?”_ _

_ _Alec smiles slightly. “Yeah, for the next twelve hours.”_ _

_ _Magnus leans back onto the head of his bed, which was cranked all the way up to a seated position. “Wonderful.” He says._ _

_ _Alec sees crinkled eyes and lifted lips, but he also sees the slight sheen of perspiration form on Magnus’ forehead. There’s a slight twitch to the way Magnus is holding his hands together, like he’s in the precipice of a full-on tremor. He feels Magnus’ eyes wander away from his, like there’s a secret in his gaze that he doesn’t want to give away._ _

_ _“Hey.” Alec says, a notch away from under his breath, “Hold my hand.”_ _

_ _Magnus laughs softly, and there again, Alec hears a small tremble. “Alexander, we haven’t even had our first date yet.”_ _

_ _Alec presents his hand yet again, closer this time. “Humor me.”_ _

_ _Magnus’ laugh crumbles into lips pressed tight into a line, all the vestiges of a confident man starting to crumple to the ground. Alec waits, patiently, for a decision._ _

_ _Magnus breaths out slowly, unclasps his hands from each other, and gradually moves one towards Alec’s direction. When his fingers finally slip into the palm of Alec’s hand, Alec doesn’t have to hold on for long. He feels the resting tremor under Magnus’ skin, like a magnitude five earthquake putting his entire body in a thousand minuscule motions. _ _

_ _Alec clasps Magnus’ hand with the other and gently rests it back onto his lap._ _

_ _“Magnus, you don’t have to tell me why.” Alec says as gently as he let go of Magnus’ hand, “Or you can, if you want. But you’re in pain. And you’re anxious. Hiding it behind a stunning smile won’t change that. Nor will it make your life here better.”_ _

_ _Magnus doesn’t say anything, but simply breathes._ _

_ _Alec peers into his eyes. “I’m going to get you something for pain. Take it or not, I will continue to bring something for you. And I want you to know that taking it won’t make you lesser of a person. And it won’t bring you back to a place in your life that you don’t want to remember.”_ _

_ _Alec gives Magnus a small pat on the shoulder before walking through the curtains and out the door._ _

_ _When he reaches the doctor’s door, he politely requests an Acute Pain Services consultation for Magnus, and gives the doctor a quick thanks when he nods in agreement. _ _

_ _He enters the pharmacy room and types in his log in information._ _

_ _Today’s shift is going to be divided into four-hour intervals, and every time Alec enters Magnus’ room, he has two pills of hydromorphone in a cup for him to take._ _

_ _Today, it’s all about trying._ _

_ _

_ _

_ _The first time Alec brings Magnus his narcotics, Magnus smiles up at him, softly but somewhat brokenly, and shakes his head no._ _

_ _Alec nods and turns away. He gets Clary to witness the waste and checks in on his other patients._ _

The second time he brings the medications to Magnus, he is in the middle of a hushed argument with a man slightly older than him, dressed in a smart suit, his graying hair swept up in loose curls. His white polo shirt crinkles when he turns at the soft knock Alec tentatively deposits on the door jamb. Their mutterings give way to silence, and the visitor is halfway to pushing himself off the chair when Alec gestures, _stay seated, it’s fine_.

_ _“You okay, Magnus?” Alec calls from behind the curtain._ _

_ _“I’m fine, Alexander.” Comes Magnus’ answer, a degree of strain imminent. _ _

_ _“Okay.” Alec says, “I’ll come back.”_ _

_ _He doesn’t end up coming back, at least not immediately. _ _

A code blue blares in their ears as Greg Falchuck goes into flash pulmonary edema, and Alec is right at the heart of it, hovering over Greg’s face and a bag-valve mask pumping high flow oxygen into his flooding lungs. Alec’s eyes are fixated on Greg’s, wide-eyed and filled with painful terror, the same eyes he stared into just a week ago when he screamed about the Russians and their plan to kill the president. _Come on, Greg, come on_. The defibrillator doesn’t register a pulse, and right away they pounce on Greg’s chest, compressions creaking the bed the same way Greg’s ribs creak under the pressure. Alec doesn’t step aside as much as he stumbles when Simon places a tender hand over his arm. They get ready to intubate, and the ICU nurses push epinephrine into Greg’s lines in hope of restarting his old, failing heart.

_ _Alec’s world spins around him as he pushes himself into the staff bathroom, hands planted on the sink, white-knuckled and taut against the porcelain. He blinks away the tears, breathes in and out, holds himself together because there’s still six more hours to go. _ _

_ _When he finally pushes himself off the sink and steps out into the hall, a stretcher rolls past him, and he tries to ignore the concerned gaze that prickles at the back of his neck as he walks by._ _

_ _He gets back to Greg. He doesn’t realize they have been working for thirty minutes._ _

_ _Clary sees him, drops the code blue clipboard to her side, and gives him a tight hug._ _

_ _“I’m sorry, Alec.” _ _

_ _The code blue clock has been stopped. They wheel the cart out of the room. The ICU doctor calls the time of death. _ _

_ _One by one, the team walks out of the room, a sullen silence thick in the crevices of their shared space. Everyone takes a task: Maia takes the phone and calls the family. Clary finishes up the code blue record and turns to do and inventory of the cart. Meliorn starts answering the barrage of call lights left unanswered because of the code. _ _

_ _Alec steps into the room, gingerly, and starts picking away the supplies left on Greg Falchuck’s bed. _ _

_ _He does this for what it seems like eternity. Filling up a bag full of reusable supplies they can send out to be autoclaved. Straightening out the bed and fixing the ruffled sheets. He takes out all the tubes and catheters that has hung on Greg Falchuck’s body in their hope of correcting the things his body is couldn’t help but do to itself. _ _

_ _The most important thing Alec does is wash Greg Falchuck’s face. _ _

_ _He takes the comb he keeps in his side table and runs it across the sparseness of his white hair. _ _

_ _He takes the flowers sent in by his daughter just two days ago, wipes away the remaining drops of water from the vase, and places it across his chest. He folds the get well soon card close, slips it into the envelope, and lays it within Greg Falchuck’s hand. _ _

_ _When the family steps into the room, they see their family member with flowers adorning his chest, face clean, a blanket lain neatly over his body. _ _

_ _Greg Falchuck’s wife takes Alec’s hand and kisses it in gratitude. “Thank you.”_ _

And all Alec could say is _it is my absolute and humble pleasure_.

_ _By the time Alec looks at the clock, it’s already four o’clock in the afternoon. He sits by Clary and softly requests for her help._ _

_ _The third time Alec comes by Magnus’ room with medications, it isn’t Alec, but Clary. _ _

_ _Magnus looks up from his hands, concern heavy in his tired eyes. Something small shifts in his gaze when he sees brilliant red instead of the usual dark brown. “Hello, Clary.” He greets, a soft smile gently dispensed._ _

_ _“Hey, Magnus.” Clary says, offering him a smile of her own, “Alec’s a bit busy. He wants me to ask you if you would take something for pain.”_ _

_ _Magnus lips press together. “Is he okay?”_ _

_ _Clary puts two and two together. “You saw?”_ _

_ _“When he came out of the bathroom.” _ _

_ _Clary steps closer, a steady breath slipping from her lips. _ _

_ _“He’s going to be okay.” She says, “This is the job. Our patients here.. they stay longer than in any other ward. We get to know them, we feed them, we celebrate their birthdays. So when we lose one of them.. it hurts more.”_ _

_ _Clary pauses, mulling over a thought, before continuing. “Alec doesn’t show it, but his heart is always full. He has a lot of love to give. He’s the first to cast away emotion, but he’s also the first to be swayed by them. He says it makes him an insufficient nurse, but to me, it’s what makes him the best.”_ _

_ _Magnus only nods, but there are complexities in the way he settles his gaze on the lines of his palm._ _

_ _“He wants the same for you, Magnus.” Clary says, peering into Magnus’ eyes. “Whatever it is you’re going through—it isn’t a one-man battle. Here, we carry half of your burden. That’s what we’re here for, after all.” _ _

_ _When Magnus looks up, there is a change in his eyes._ _

_ _“I’ll take something for pain, Clary.” He almost murmurs, “Please.”_ _

_ _Clary smiles softly, grasping Magnus’ hand within her own, before handing him the pills she has carried with her into the room._ _

_ _“Tell Alexander to please come see me in his earliest convenience.” Magnus says after a few sips of water. “There is absolutely no rush.”_ _

_ _The next few times somebody comes knocking on his door to offer pain medications or take his vital signs, it is a Russian roulette of Clary, Meliorn, and Maia, all of them kind-hearted to the bone. Magnus wonders whether there is an earliest convenience for Alec today, and decides he’ll most probably see him tomorrow after a good night’s rest. _ _

The clock hits six thirty in the evening when he starts feeling a jolt of pain run through his splinted leg, and as if on some kind of miraculous, finely tuned cue, there’s a knock on his door and Magnus, hissing through the pain, hollers a _come in_.

_ _Magnus has been unwittingly trained to see bright red today, and so when he finally sees dark hair peek through the curtains, it takes a minute for his eyes to adjust. Alec pads in, hands behind his back. In his eyes, interspersed with the tiredness of today, is a gentle apology. His mouth is pressed onto a line, and he settles onto the chair closest to Magnus’ bed._ _

He produces a cup and shakes it, a question that doesn’t need to be asked. _Will you take something for your pain?_

Magnus smiles slightly and takes the cup. _Yes, I will_.

_ _Magnus is finishing off the last remnants of what is in his bottle of water when Alec finally opens his mouth to speak._ _

_ _“I’m sorry I haven’t been here for most of the shift.”_ _

_ _Magnus leans forward, crumbling a few inches of the distance that still sits between them. “It’s okay.” He says truthfully, “You were taking care of me, despite it through the hands of others.”_ _

_ _“It’s poor nursing.” Alec mutters, “Greg wasn’t my only patient. You are too.”_ _

_ _“Alexander.” Magnus gently says, and though it is an interruption, it feels nothing like it. There is no abruptness in his words, nor does it cut through Alec’s sentiments. It simply is a sound that Alec doesn’t mind hearing, in all the possible forms it could come in._ _

_ _“You are human.” He presses those words onto Alec’s hands, a fact so simple but yet complex at the same time, “Yes, you are a nurse. Yes, you have seen death before. But it doesn’t mean you are stripped of the right to grieve.”_ _

_ _Alec doesn’t look up, a hand pressing itself onto his mouth. _ _

_ _“Humanity requires mourning in the face of misfortune.” Magnus says softly, “That is the harsh truth of who we are.” He offers his hand the way Alec offers his that morning, an anchor._ _

_ _Alec’s breathing picks up, like a sob threatening to break but is dispersed into inhalation and exhalation, a tightness rising from the bottom of his lungs up to the pith of his chest, and finally—he takes Magnus’ hand in in one tight grasp—the dam breaks. Tears form rivulets down the curve of Alec’s cheeks, breaths broken with its every passing through his mouth, and the only steady thing in this very second is Magnus’ hand in his._ _

_ _It’s five minutes of this. Finally, Alec nods in finality, a gesticulation that he is okay, and releases Magnus’ hand. He passes his fingers over his face, wiping away the tears that hasn’t dried. He sniffs loudly, and takes a deep breath as if to steady himself. _ _

_ _“Thanks,” Alec mutters, “For that.”_ _

_ _“You didn’t have to.” He continues, leaning back onto the chair, “You have a broken bone for christ’s sake, and here I am crying like a damn baby.”_ _

Magnus rolls his eyes sarcastically. “I held a cute boy’s hand for five minutes. _Ugh_. What a nightmare.”

_ _Alec breaks into a laugh, shaking his head. “Human Resources will have my fucking head.”_ _

_ _“We don’t have to tell.” Magnus slyly says, though there’s not much of an innuendo behind it. He chuckles. “We shook hands, that’s all.”_ _

_ _Alec’s left eye narrows into a squint, and Magnus might just have fallen a tad bit in love. “Right. For five minutes.”_ _

_ _“Yes, for five minutes.” Magnus quipped._ _

_ _“And our hands were stationary.” Alec continuous slowly. _ _

_ _“Yes, our hands were stationary.”_ _

_ _Alec laughs, and for the second time in this conversation, shakes his head. “Maybe just don’t tell.”_ _

_ _Magnus leans back onto the bed, beaming._ _

_ _“Deal.”_ _

_ _

_ _

_ _Magnus doesn’t tell Alec about his story today._ _

_It’s fine_, Alec thinks to himself, as he walks through the halls, backpack hitched onto his shoulder. It’s not a story a stranger is privileged to hear. And truly, past the little touches of flirting and the one true moment between the two of them that evening, they are strangers. They know nothing of each other aside from their occupations and a reason for hospital admission.

He passes by room 34, careful not to be so loud so late in the evening, but is stopped in his tracks by a small _psst_.

_ _Alec squints in confusion, back tracks a few steps, and sees Magnus parked by the door, sitting on the visitor’s chair with his splinted leg outstretched before him._ _

_ _Alec could only ask the most logical question there is. _ _

_ _“What are you doing?”_ _

_ _Magnus smiles that arresting smile, and Alec swears he is doing this on purpose._ _

_ _“I just wanted to say good night before you go.”_ _

_ _“How did you..?” Alec starts, but his question is answered by the face that pops out from behind the curtain. _ _

_ _Aline grins like she has had a hand in the most elaborate jewelry heist since the Antwerp diamond robbery. Magnus looks back at her, no doubt with the same stupid grin on his face, before looking back at Alec._ _

_ _“Also I needed to go to the bathroom.” Magnus adds with no embarrassment, whatsoever._ _

_ _Alec stifles a laugh. “How was that?”_ _

_ _Magnus’ smile doesn’t falter._ _

_ _“Hard.”_ _

_ _Alec has clocked out, so he lets himself chortle._ _

_ _“Good night, Magnus.” He says, as he starts his way towards the exit once more._ _

_ _“Good night, Alexander.”_ _

_ _Friends. Human Resources doesn’t ban friends._ _


	2. I don't need pain pills, but there's something else I'd like to pop into my mouth.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sexual innuendos continue. Some sadness ensues, but you can handle it. ;)

  


Alec likes night shifts.

The quiet ones, at least.

Usually, tasks are at an all time low during the dead of the night, and for most part their patients sleep. Maybe there’s one or two times in the night where a few elderly patients wander off into the halls in search for the toilet, but they’re easily reoriented. Mary usually sits at the television room until eleven o’clock at night; it is where the lights are brightest, and she likes to knit until she feels sleep beckon. Georgina, sweet Georgina, is awake at three in the morning, boils water in the electric kettle, and makes herself a cup of red rose tea. She pads back to her room, but not before waving at the nurses by the desk and sends each of them flying kisses their way. Everybody makes a meal of catching theirs, and Georgina points to who ever does the best catch that night.

Unfortunately for Alec, Georgina’s favoritism doesn’t extend during competitions. Clary really goes for it like it’s an Olympic sport, and when she gets that night’s thumbs up of approval, Alec waves her away, unimpressed. _These are the benefits you reap when you don’t have any shame_, Alec laughs, and Clary doesn’t stop dangling the win over his head until morning comes.

Alec comes in for one of his few eight-hour night shifts, and as expected, the ward’s lights are turned all the way off, the only light source emanating from the nursing desk. Even then, Meliorn has dimmed it down to a comfortable gleam, giving their eyes a well deserve break from the angry fluorescence.

Alec doesn’t even have to look at the board to know he has Magnus in his assignment.

“I know what you all are doing,” Alec says as he thumbs through the patient information sheets and picking out his patients, “And it’s not gonna work.”

Alec could have thrown that comment down a ravine and it would have been met with the same response. He looks at the people shuffling around the nurse station like they’ve got all the things to do at eleven thirty in the evening, but the knowing, lip-bitten smiles that Meliorn, Clary, and Maia all have on their mouths say otherwise.

He gets report from the outgoing evening nurse and takes a flash light from the supply closet. He goes to each of his patient rooms and checks on everybody, watching closely, making sure breaths are pushing and pulling from their chests. When he steps into Magnus’ room, he clicks off his flashlight. The lights in the room are turned all the way up, and when Alec peeks past the curtains, a sleeping form greets his eyes.

This is the most genuine peace Alec has seen Magnus in.

Eyes closed, head lolled to the side, the gentle in and out of his breath through his mouth that has fallen open. A pink teddy bear is tucked within the circle of his arm, a gift a child (_Mary? Maddie? Oh, Madzie._) has given Magnus during one of her visits with her mom. _It’s pink to match your cast_, she says, and Alec might have seen the first time Magnus has ever had tears in his eyes. Magnus hasn’t even bothered to recline the head of his bed to a supine position, instead, falling asleep in the middle of perusing through a stack of bound papers now sitting, haphazard, on his lap. Alec sees a portion of the pink fiber-glass cast peeking from underneath Magnus’ blanket. Scribbles run up and down the cast, and he recognizes Clary’s writing on one of them. Alec sees his own right next to hers. _Good luck with physical therapy. Break a leg. –Alec._ He remembers the side-splintering laugh Magnus releases as he reads the words.

Alec is about to step out when he catches sight of a program left on one of the visitor chairs.

He soundlessly picks it up, and takes in the cover in wonder.

_New York City Ballet_ is printed in bold letters on top, and right underneath, in a glorious mid-pirouette a la seconde, is Magnus, the entirety of his form splayed along the page. Alec couldn’t believe the sight of it. It is the singularly most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he couldn’t even dare to describe it in his head. Alec could feel his own joints stretch majestically, like every fiber of muscle in his being is postured meticulously to hold the statuesque form he sees on the cover. _Our principal dancer, Magnus Bane, in George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker. Coming this December_.

“Jesus.” Alec lets himself whisper, adoration in his voice.

He can’t help but look at the Magnus lying on his hospital bed, teddy bear clutched to his chest, drool at the corner of his mouth.

Alec shakes his head, grinning. 

The duality of man, indeed.

The next time he does his hourly rounds, the stack of papers Magnus once has on his lap has slipped on the floor. Alec carefully takes the bound pile, arranges it neatly, and places it on top of Magnus’ side table.

He brushes both hands on the thighs of his scrubs, teeth working on the inside of his bottom lip, mulling a thought.

_Fuck it_, Alec thinks, and takes the blanket that has faltered onto Magnus’ lap and gently drapes it over his shoulders. He almost hovers over the lock of hair that falls over Magnus’ eyes, and as if burned, he pulls his hand away. Magnus doesn’t stir, but his eyes scrunch momentarily, a pinprick of a movement. 

When he steps out of the room, he shuts the lights off as quietly as he could.

He tries to forget the way Magnus’ hair naturally sweeps gently to the side, and how his eye lashes lay softly on his skin when he’s asleep.

It’s three o’clock in the morning and Alec sits by the charge nurse desk, tapping off the rest of his charting. He is able to catch Georgina mid-tea break and do a quick assessment, and no, he doesn’t win tonight’s best flying kiss catch either. Meliorn, somehow, squeaks in a narrow win, and with Maia a close second. It isn’t Clary’s night tonight, and it never is Alec’s.

Alec’s squinting at the monitor, trying to remember the temperature he just took, when his ears register the rhythmic clack of something hitting the floor.

Magnus rounds the corner, crutches in hand. 

Alec forgets what he’s even typing. 

“Hey.” He says, voice gravelly from the night shift.

“Hey to you too, Alexander.” Magnus smiles, and it lights his mouth all the way up his eyes, as if it’s not three in the morning. 

“How are you feeling?” Alec leans forward, meeting Magnus as he drapes himself over the ledge of the charge nurse desk.

“Better every day.” Magnus says warmly, “I am mastering the graceful art of using crutches. I’m sure I can at least be en pointe while using these, right? Yes? You’re shaking your head no but I truly feel in your heart of hearts you mean to say yes.”

Alec laughs. “You’re ridiculous.”

Magnus chuckles, looking around the nursing station. “Where’s Clary and the others?”

“They’re on break.” Alec answers, and ignores the sudden heat creeping up the back of his neck. 

Magnus leans the tiniest bit forward even more. “Then, can I sit with you?”

Alec feels the emptiness of the nursing station, the stillness in the halls, and Magnus’ eyes on him.

He uses his foot to pull a rolling chair next to him.

“Park it.”

Alec dry heaves, fingers to his mouth.

“I can’t.” he breathes, speaking through a mouthful of _something_, “It’s too much.”

Magnus leans back onto his chair. “You can do it.”

“I can’t.” Alec says again, nausea hitting him like a wave, “I’m gonna be sick.”

“You’re almost there!” Magnus urges, pinning a laugh against the back of his teeth and almost fails.

Alec looks at him, scandalized. “Are you enjoying yourself?!”

Magnus shrugs. “You could have chosen truth.”

“Your question was too personal!” Alec protests, almost _wails_, cheeks puffed up with the _something_ he refuses to allow past his throat. Magnus’ heart is flip-flopping at the adorable sight. 

“Boxers or briefs aren’t a personal question, Alexander,” Magnus says, “It’s merely factual.”

“I’d like to be kept employed, thanks.” Alec grumbles and catches a crumb that falls off his bottom lip, “I don’t think underwear talk falls under ‘proper conversation topics between patients and nurses’.”

Magnus answers, eyes gleaming, “Then swallow.” 

A strained laugh escapes where it only can, takes the form of hot air through his nostrils, and Alec kicks Magnus’ chair in retaliation. Magnus rolls a foot away, pink cast in the air, cackling.

“Okay, I’m gonna do it.” Alec decides, clutching his fists in determination. “I’m really gonna do it this time.”

Magnus watches intently as Alec squeezes his eyes shut, crows’ feet wrinkling its corners, adam’s apple undulating on his throat. With great effort he finally gulps down the mouthful of gross hospital food they find in the fridge. Alec pushes away the tray in front of him and hurriedly covers it with the lid. He grabs his water bottle and chugs it like a champ.

Alec finally emerges from downing half a liter of fluid into his mouth. “You’re awful,” he says, “And I hope you step on a lego.”

Magnus feigns absolute shock, a hand on his heart and a hand on his pink cast. “Low blow.” 

Alec leans back onto his chair with a groan. “You deserve it.”

When Alec realigns his entire world, he finally asks back. “Truth or dare.”

Magnus doesn’t even think. “Truth.”

“Okay.” Alec answers, pursing his lips in mulled thought. “Why did you want to become a ballet dancer?”

Magnus’ eyes shift, as if in mild surprise at the wholesome question. Wholesome, but difficult, a truth that leaves him vulnerable to the naked eye. He opens his mouth as if he has the answer already, one that he’s given to countless people in interviews and media sound bites, but he finds something genuine in Alec’s eyes—curiosity? Hope? It makes Magnus want to stoke the fire and feed it branches of himself.

“Do you know,” Magnus says, smiling, “That men can’t go on pointe?”

Alec’s brow raises. “Like on tip toe?”

Magnus nods, a tinge of bitter reminiscence staining his soft smile.

“Yes. It’s mostly reserved for female ballet dancers.” He continues, “Even in ballet, where you would think the effeminate is welcomed so graciously, men are still held to a standard of masculinity. To lead in a pas de deux is powerful. To lift a dancer is strong. To go on pointe is laughable.”

The solemnity in the way Alec clutches to every word Magnus says gives him the will to go on.

“The first time I tried to go on pointe, my ballet teacher scolded me.” Magnus chuckles, eyes shining at the memory. “A cold, Russian woman in her late thirties. _Definitely_ KGB. She whacked me at the ankles and said, _you are not a girl_. I said I know, and what did it matter? But she whacked me again anyway.”

“The other boys laughed, too.” He continues, amusement in his voice, “All of us in tights and ballet shoes holding ourselves aloft, and they think standing on tip toe somehow makes them too girly. But then I met Catarina. Lovely, lovely Catarina.” 

The way Magnus breathes her name through his lips arrests Alec’s heart in his chest momentarily. 

“An angel. She is the first to tell me what I wanted wasn’t wrong.” He murmurs, “Who I wanted wasn’t wrong. That I wasn’t wrong.” A small smile grows on his lips. “She gave me her old pointe shoes. It was used and soft and barely fit my feet, it hurt like absolute hell, but when I lifted my heels off that floor—” Magnus falters to a stop, unbridled wonder filling his features with sunlight, “I felt _whole_.”

“One night, in ballet school, I had a solo performance.” Magnus says, and something in him stings, and Alec knows. “I came onto the stage on pointe shoes.”

Alec’s lips press into a tight line, the only way he can push in the quiver it threatens to make.

“They booed me off the stage.” Magnus says, voice cracked and roughened by the sudden wave of emotion, “They kicked me out of the program and never allowed me to dance there ever since.”

“Magnus..” Alec breathes, sorrow heavy in his chest.

“It was Alabama, Alexander.” Magnus sniffs, breathing strongly. “It wouldn’t have been ready for me. I don’t know if it ever could. So, I moved to New York.”

Alec smiles. “And now you’re the principal dancer in one of the biggest ballet companies in the world.”

Magnus laughs, an admittance. “Yeah.”

They sit there, wallowing in the comfortable silence that is bequeathed by a solemnly shared story. Magnus shakes his head slightly, still smiling from behind the splayed fingers scratching idly at the bow of his lip, like he’s unearthed an important memory he can’t believe he’s kept buried for the longest time. Alec robs a small glance because he can’t help it.

“You didn’t really answer the question.” Alec says.

He pushes the covered tray towards Magnus’ direction.

“Alexander Gideon Lightwood,” Magnus says, fighting to keep his laughter at bay, “Fuck you.”

“So, what about you?” Magnus asks, “Why did you want to be a nurse?”

Alec looks at him like he’s deluded. “You just shared the greatest story of all time. I don’t think my origin story can measure up.”

Magnus leans on the table, elbow pitching his chin onto his hand. “On the contrary, your origin story is what I’ve been curious about for the past few days.” His eyes twinkle with playfulness. _Yes, I’ve been thinking of you. Yes, tell me everything about yourself. _

The corners of Alec’s mouth quirk ever so slightly, like he’s trying not to let the in the 100% sunshine concentrate Magnus is directing at him, but failing quite spectacularly at it. 

“I’m from a family of doctors.” Alec starts, slow, tentative, “And no, they didn’t force me into medical school and I start wearing hot topic hoodies and belt chains to get back at them.” Magnus squints at the ceiling, a dead giveaway of him trying to superimpose the goth chic aesthetic on Alec’s entirety.

Alec gives Magnus’ chair another small kick, _DON’T_. Magnus laughs, holding his hands in front of him placatingly, _okay, okay_. “They’re good parents. They let me do what I want.”

“One day, my grandmother got rushed to emerg.” Alec continues, eyes bleary at the thought, “I was fifteen then, I was visiting her in her old apartment in Manhattan. It was just a short walk away, and I felt like I needed to see her. We were talking, and suddenly she’s a garbled mess, half of her face drooping, and she's slumping to her side. She was having a massive stroke. I called 911 and I rode the ambulance with her. Everything was happening so fast, everybody was so busy trying to assess her and give her medications and call the hospital—and I just sat there, lost to the world for what it felt like forever.” 

Alec leans back, fingers crossed against each other, pressing at the curve between his thumb and index finger.

“The first person who talks to me is the nurse.” He recalls, eyes gazing at a spot on the wall, “Pulls me to the side. She holds my hand and says,” he breathes, steadying himself, “_You did a great job, getting her here. Let us take care of the rest._”

“It’s just words.” Alec shrugs, still mulling the memory in his mind, “But it changed me.”

Alec shifts his gaze, and already finds Magnus looking at him like there’s no one else in the world. Everything around him flutters beautifully.

“That’s when I knew.”

They don’t say anything for a while. Two stories, side by side, like to parallel lines running across a page. 

Magnus opens his mouth. “Alexander, that was—”

The elevator at the end of the hall dings, and the color from Alec’s face drains so quick it’s concerning. He throws Magnus the most frantically urgent look and hisses, “Hide!”

Magnus bolts upright in his seat, looking around, “What is it?”

Alec bounds out of his seat and looks past the corner, and then a steady stream of _oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit_ tumbles out of his mouth. Magnus watches in shock as Alec just about runs to where his crutches are and tosses it haphazardly under the table. Magnus eyes widens in shock and he looks over the nursing desk and down the hall himself, and there’s a figure steadily walking towards them.

“_Alexander—_”

Alec turns to him in utter panic, his body in total flight, “Magnus, under the table.”

Magnus hisses, “What?!”

Alec almost screams through gritted teeth at the utter lack of cooperation in Magnus’ part, pushing the heels of his palm against his eyes, “It’s the night hospital manager Magnus under the table _NOW_!”

Magnus’ eyes widen, _finally_ getting the impending situation, and just about throws himself on the floor and rolls himself under the desk. A low grumble and dusty cough rise from underneath, and Alec shushes Magnus urgently, further toeing in the pink cast that slightly peeks out. Alec gets a retaliating kick on the shin, and yes, he probably does deserve that. Alec dumps himself on the chair, tries to appear at least semi-settled, runs a hand through his hair for good measure, and turns to his computer just as Valentine Morgenstern comes to full view.

“You in charge today?” he asks, as he dumps his notebook on the ledge.

“No, just covering.” Alec coughs, “Maia’s on break.”

“How’s the ward?” Valentine continues, doesn’t even look up from his notes to acknowledge Alec’s presence in front of him.

Alec rolls his eyes, which goes unnoticed. “24 patients. 1 potential discharge tomorrow. 2 admissions from home. We only have four nurses tomorrow, and we need at least five.”

Valentine shakes his head, and for the first time in the exchange, looks up. “No can do. 5A South needs the staff more.”

Alec narrows an eye, confused. “What do you mean? We’ve been working short for the past few days, and we don’t even get the aides we need.”

“You’re not the only ward I have to staff.” Valentine replies curtly, and even before Alec can mutter another word of protest, he raises his hand. _Asshole. _

“Are you being paid to do my job?” he asks, words dripping in condescension, “Do you have managerial experience, a masters, heck even maybe experience outside geriatric medicine?”

Alec bites back the roaring reply that threatens to barge its way out of his mouth. “No.”

Valentine leans forward. “Then don’t tell me how to do my job and I won't tell you how to do yours.”

He walks away, three steps away in particular, when a mumbled cough erupts from under the desk. _Douche canoe_. Alec’s cheeks puff in contained laughter, trapping his lips against his teeth for good measure. 

Valentine pauses. “What was that?”

Alec shrugs. “Nothing.”

Valentine is fully out of sight before another mumbled cough comes about. _Shit waffle_. 

Air _pffts_ out of Alec’s mouth and he dissolves into a belly-aching laugh, head slumped on his desk. A teasing touch pokes at his ankle and he recoils in strained surprise, a yelp cracking past the string of laughter. Magnus peeks from under the table, a particularly fluffy dust bunny stuck on the top of his head. Alec wipes away the tears in his eyes and picks it off.

“Not that I don’t enjoy the view from down here,” Magnus says with a laugh, “But can you help me up?”

Alec lets the sexual innuendo slide, because it’s that good.

“You won’t believe what has happened since the last time you’ve been here.” Magnus beams as Alec walks into his room, two days after.

Alec’s lips unconsciously crack into a smile as he drags the vitals machine into the room.

“What?”

Magnus takes the bottom left corner of his blanket and pulls it out of the way with a flourish only a ballet dancer can do. The fiber glass cast wrapped around his left lower leg, a bright, almost luminescent pink in its color, is bejewelled.

Madzie’s handiwork.

Alec secretly melts on the inside, but he’s not going to tell Magnus that. Instead, he groans, wincing.

Magnus gasps, a poised hand over his mouth. “You don’t like glitter?”

“I feel like my brain is on fire.” Alec grumbles, squinting, “I still can’t believe there really was no other shade of pink you could have picked. It’s like I’m staring at the tip of a highlighter.”

Magnus smiles proudly. “Have you ever known me to be subtle, Alexander?”

“No, not really.” Alec admits, wrapping the blood pressure cuff over Magnus’ arm. He doesn’t mean to give pause, but he does. “But I don’t really know much about you, do I?” 

Magnus smiles, a suggestion lacing the way it fills his lips. “We can always change that, you know.”

Alec, for the second time in this ten-minute conversation, breaks into another chuckle. “Yeah, I’m sure you’d like that.”

Magnus shrugs, offering an unpolished finger for the oximeter. “I’m an open book, Alexander. I’m a ballet dancer, I love pasta aglio e olio, and I’m deathly afraid of acid-wash jeans.”

Alec narrows an eye at him. “Right. Because that tells me a lot.”

Magnus grins. “Of course it does. Now you know where to take me on our first date, and what not to wear.” 

He pops the thermometer under his tongue himself, and hands it back to Alec when it beeps a registered reading.

“What are my numbers?” Magnus asks, tries to curiously peer over Alec’s sheets. Alec pulls them out prying eyes, smirking. 

“They’re fine.”

“If you won’t give me mine,” Magnus’ lips pull into a grin. “Can I get yours?”

Alec scrunches up his face in thought, holding his hand parallel to the floor and tipping side to side, _meh_. “Not your best.”

“Agreed, I could do better.” Magnus sighs dramatically. “Must be the broken leg.”

Alec turns towards the machine. “Seems like it’s not the only bone you’re trying to nurse.”

Magnus feels the world _tilt_—his eyes snap to Alec’s, who is thoroughly busying himself with folding the deflated blood pressure cuff into itself. There’s a stubbornness in the way Alec refuses to look up for a good solid minute from the task he’s so obviously drawing out, and when he finally meets Magnus’ eyes, Magnus sees a glint of healthy competition.

Magnus grins, crossing his arms across his chest. “Okay.” He says, and understanding made.

“Okay.” Alec says back, voice full of mirth, eyes peering up from long eye lashes.

“Yeah?”

A corner of Alec’s lip quirks into a small smirk.

“Let’s play.”

When Clary sees Simon trudge into the ward for a quick visit, there’s a confused look on his face.

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” Clary waves, giving Simon a quick hug before coming back to checking her lunch time medications, “You look spooked. Is everything okay?”

The crease on Simon’s forehead deepens, as if all the secrets of the universe has been bestowed upon him. “I saw the weirdest thing.”

Clary pauses. “What?”

Simon drops onto the chair right next to her, leaning close, his hands gesticulating in front of him like the motions are meant to clear his confusion. 

“I just saw Alec,” Simon starts, blinking, “Giggling to himself.”

Clary squashes her laughter, fingers pressed over her lips. “Yeah, that’s been happening a lot.”

“Wha—?” Simon sputters, indignant over everybody’s clear disregard of keeping him updated about _anything_, “Wait, why? What’s going on? How—” 

Clary places a hand over his shoulder. “Oh, hun. There’s so much we need to talk about.”

“Hun, I have fifteen minutes.” Simon says, leaning in with such sense of urgency, “Abridge it for me.”

Alec pops his head into Magnus’ room.

He’s running late, and he needs to prep somebody for a colonoscopy.

“You need pain pills?” he hollers.

“Nope.” Magnus answers, “But there’s something else I’d like to pop into my mouth.”

Alec blinks, lost for a moment, before groaning. Magnus snickers loudly.

“That was good.” Alec grumbles in acknowledgement, “Points.”

“Magnus: one, Alec: zero.”

“What, my first one didn’t count?!” Alec demands.

Magnus rolls his eyes. “Fine. Magnus: one, Alec: one.”

Alec jabs a finger at Magnus’ direction. “You wait.”

Magnus leans back, still grinning, and waves a hand goodbye. 

“I’ll be right here, darling.”

“The X-rays look good.” Alec hears Dr. Garroway, the orthopedic surgeon, from outside the Magnus’ room. “You’ll be out of here soon. I just want to monitor this bruising along your toes. Does the cast feel like it’s getting tighter?”

“I really can’t tell.” Magnus says, worried, “Kind of? It definitely feels like there’s less wiggle room since two days ago.”

“We’ll keep watching it.” Garroway says calmly, “If it gets worse, tell your nurse. But honestly, the likelihood of it being anything else than some light soft tissue injury is slim.”

“I’m happy.” Magnus says, a gentle smile on his lips. “It’s been a tough pill to swallow, breaking my leg.”

“I understand.” Garroway answers sympathetically, “I know how tightly ballet dancers hold on to their position in dance companies. It’s cut throat, your field.”

Magnus nods in agreement. “It’s definitely not easy.” He looks up. “How many months, you think?”

Garroway purses his lips. “Of recovery? Depends on what you do and don’t do. I would give it four months to fully heal. And then start slow from there.”

The realization tumbles over Magnus like small rocks skimming the edge of a cliff. Four months out of commission is a long time for a ballet dancer. He almost feels like he deserves it for being so careless.

“Okay. Four months.” He repeats.

Garroway looks at him pointedly. “And start slow from there.”

He nods. “And start slow from there.”

Dr. Garroway gives Magnus a parting hand shake and steps past the curtain. He looks at Alec and gives him a small nod, which Alec returns politely. Luke Garroway, despite Alec’s limited knowledge of his person, has always been pleasant to him. Clary, of course, always has praises for her step father.

Alec peeks through the curtain. “Good news? Bad?”

Magnus smiles. “Both.”

Alec presses his lips together, nodding in understanding. “An impasse.”

“Impasses are always temporary, Alexander.” Magnus says softly, “One day, the tide will turn, and something will give.”

Alec looks on curiously. “How do you do that?”

Magnus blinks, mildly confused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Huh.” Alec says, a realization made while mulling the thought, “Say things, and make them sound like the most flowery sentence in the world. Do you just wax poetic all the time?”

“Not really,” Magnus admits, “Only when I enjoy the company.”

Alec raises a brow. “And when you don’t?”

“I’m an ass.” Magnus says simply, but breaks down in a small giggle. With the airy sound of his laughter in the air, Alec doesn’t think Magnus has the capability to be. 

“So, don’t get on my bad side, maybe.”

Magnus realizes that he has handed Alec a loaded pistol. He doesn’t know how Alec will use this ammunition, there are so many ways to spin this—ass-wise, specifically—and Alec, the grinning, free-loading fool, takes his shot. 

“If not your bad side,” Alec smirks, “How about your bedside?”

_Oh god_, Magnus thinks in terror, _he’s learning_.

Magnus breathes, still knocked out by how good that come on was.

“Points?” Alec grins, and it’s the most fucking _beautiful_ grin Magnus has ever seen in his life.

Magnus fights the urge to look completely smitten. 

“Points.”

Alec pumps a fist in the air, and Magnus laughs.

“Magnus: 1, Alec: 2.”

Magnus hurries, crutches patting a rhythm against the floor as he makes his way towards the nursing station. 

When he gets there, he sees Clary and Helen reading off information from their sheets. He can only assume from experience that one of them are going on break, and the other taking over for the next thirty minutes.

He patiently waits for both of them to finish, bouncing slightly on the ball of his good foot.

Clary looks up and smiles warmly. “Hey Magnus! What’s up?”

“Clary, Helen, I have an idea.” Magnus starts, shining an excited grin towards both of them, “How about we hold a small ballet performance for the patients?”

Helen’s jaw drops like she’s heard what the universe sounds like. “Oh my god. Can you do that? Will you actually do that?”

Clary just about jumps up and down, hands clasped against each other in fervent excitement. “Shit, Magnus! That is such a good idea! The patients will love it! They haven’t had any kind of entertainment since..”

Helen winces. “Since Jace played the guitar for them.”

Clary winces back. “Yeah.. he just strummed the same four chords over and over again..”

“What are we talking about?” Alec asks, as he walks towards Magnus’ general direction, flanked by another Adonis-looking specimen of a man. Magnus raises a brow at Alec’s direction, and Alec looks at him with a playful challenge in his eyes. _This one’s one of the straights_.

Magnus smirks. _I don’t discriminate._

“Who’s McDreamy over there?” Magnus quips, leaning slightly to (unfortunately) look past Alec. McDreamy’s eyes widen slightly at the confident come on, and traces the voice back to the mouth it owns.

Alec coughs, the only way to rid himself of the snicker creeping up his throat. “Magnus, this is Jace, my best friend. Jace, this is Magnus, one of our patients here.”

“Nice to meet you, Jace.” Magnus says with that sincerity that knocks people’s breaths out of their lungs, and by the way Jace blinks blearily at him, Magnus has exuded the said effect.

“Yeah, why are you all young and hot?” Jace word-vomits, and Alec _pffts_, spinning on his heel to laugh into his hands. Clary giggles off to the side, leaning onto Helen support, who barely has enough self-control to be of any help. 

Magnus turns to Alec. “That was easier than expected.” He laughs, looking at Alec who’s already beyond saving.

Helen raises both hands in the air, trying to breathe instead of laugh. “I’m going on break, y’all.”

Jace snaps out of it, and tries to intensely back-pedal, “No, like what I mean is why are you in geriatric medicine—"

“When I’m so young and hot?” Magnus supplies, and Alec, off to the side, releases a strained whimper.

“He’s an overflow, Jace,” Clary finally answers, when she regains her composure, walking towards him and hugging him from the side. She rubs his arm consolingly. “He’s an ortho patient, and he’s a ballet dancer.”

Alec almost wails between breathless laughter, still crumpled in his spot, _that’s why he’s so young and hot_.

Jace, despite being completely red in the face, looks at Alec, deeply disturbed and concerned at the same time. “Jesus, is he going to be okay?”

Magnus clacks his way to Alec, peering over his shoulder, “Earth to Alexander, come back, Alexander.” He soothingly says as Alec refuses to turn around, face buried into his hands, body slumped onto the wall beside him. His shoulders shake like a magnitude seven earthquake. 

“I think I broke him.” Magnus says flatly, "Frankly I knew I was going to. I just didn’t expect it to be this way.”

Clary looks like she’s entering another level of _oh my god_, and Jace looks like he’s entered another dimension entirely. He flips his gaze to Alec, who is just about ready to uncrumple himself from his spot, finally breathing deep breathes, wiping tears from his eyes.

“You’ll get used to him.” Alec says, voice strained from laughing so damn much. “He’s said worse.”

Magnus grins. “Points?”

Alec nods, relenting. “Yeah, points.”

Even before Clary can ask what the point system is for and how it works, Magnus returns to his original point of business.

“As I was saying,” Magnus continues, “I can get Catarina, Madzie, and Dot to come in and do short performances for the patients. We can clear the dining hall and we can do it there. I can even get some pastries sent in, and maybe some coffee and tea. That is, of course, if it’s okay.”

Alec tiredly leans onto the ledge of the nursing station, still recuperating. “You’d do that?”

Magnus nods yes, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course! Anything for my dear Georgina. She says I’m her favorite.” There’s pride in the way Magnus says the word, and Alec would’ve found it endearing if the words aren’t so utterly untrue.

Alec rolls his eyes. “Lies. _I’m_ her favorite.”

“Lies.” Magnus answers, “She just told me, literally ten minutes ago.”

“_Lies_,” Alec presses, “I’ve known her longer, so she’s liked me longer.”

“Lies,” Magnus shrugs, “Now she’s had the pleasure of knowing me.”

“One way to know for sure.” Alec retorts.

Both of them rushes forward, making a beeline for Georgina’s room. 

Jace watches as Alec gives one of Magnus’ crutches a small kick, sending him spiralling gracefully on his good leg before sticking the landing in the most suave way a one-legged man ever could. Magnus launches himself onto Alec’s back, bumping against him in retaliation, and they both semi-tumble before rounding the corner and disappears from sight.

Jace turns to Clary, bamboozled.

“What the _fuck?_”

Clary nods, smiling. “I know, darling.”

Alec, for all intents and purposes, is too wholesome to recognize even the most thinly veiled flirtations.

It’s a trait that his own genetics probably built on its own, starting from the microscopic bits of protein in his DNA, growing into a sliver of a neuron in his brain, and that one single brain cell deep in his physical cognition has decided that Alexander Lightwood doesn’t have the introspection needed to recognize coy, romantic advances. He knows two things: full on, sexual innuendos, and the words _I like you, be my boyfriend_. Simply put: if you like him, tell him. Don’t beat around the bush.

It starts when he is a kid.

Sally from first grade gives him a flower she has plucked from a hibiscus bush at school. Alec looks at the thing pressed upon his hand, blinking down on it with confusion in his eyes. Sally is giggling and Alec doesn’t know why she’s laughing at him. She looks at him expectantly, her face hidden behind her hands, so he does what he needs to do: he turns to the person next to him, Jason, and hands the flower like a baton. Even after a hushed conversation with his home room teacher about ‘how it’s nice to gracefully receive gifts from friends’, first-grade Alec doesn’t fully understand why Sally looks like she’s about to cry every time they cross paths along the playground. 

Then it continues on to high school.

Marcus from biochemistry class has an awful habit of forgetting writing tools, and to be frank, Alec is starting to get quite annoyed. There is only so much pens in the whole world, and Alec’s beginning to think even all that isn’t enough to match the rate of how fast Marcus loses his on a daily basis. Finally, on a sunny, Friday morning, Alec turns to the chair behind him, beating the pen fiend to the punch. “I don’t have any more pens.” He says flatly. Marcus smiles, leaning forward. “Then can I borrow your number instead?” Alec narrows one eye in suspicion, scribbles the digits on a piece of paper, and turns back to the board. That evening he receives a text: _hi :)_, to which Alec texts back in all seriousness: _you owe me 12 bucks for the pens_. When he fails to receive a reply, he shows Izzy—which proves to have been, up to this day, the worst decision of his life.

So, when boxes and boxes of Alec’s favorite glazed donuts are placed on the counters of the nursing desk one morning, he only ever raises an eyebrow in mild curiosity.

Alec lifts a donut from the box before anybody else could, because these are _the best_ donuts in—yes he’s going to say it—in _all_ of New York. He is lucky enough to have gotten to the box in time, because the rest of the staff swarm towards the table like hungry hyenas feeding on a gazelle, and as Alec has fondly said before: nurses are _awful_.

“Who sent this our way?” Alec asks mid-chew, and that singular, first bite hits the spot right away. 

Clary laughs. “Who do you think?”

Alec stares at her, shrugging, too busy taking a second, third bite.

“He wouldn’t have a clue, Clary.” a playful voice comes from behind him, “This _idioto_ can’t recognize flirtation if it smooched him in the face.”

Alec turns so fast he thinks he has whiplash. His eyes widen, crumbs of sugar still hanging onto the corners of his lips.

“Iz!” he all but exclaims, enveloping her in a donut-fuelled hug. “You’re here?!”

Isabelle Lightwood grins, pins Alec between her arms in an embrace and lifts him clean off the floor like he’s isn’t a thousand feet tall. _Put me down, you gremlin!_ “You got a problem with that, bro?”

Alec snickers, “Yeah, you suck!” he settles into a smile, “What, cardiac surgery’s over-staffed?”

Isabelle nods, working on one of the remaining donuts on the box. “Yeah, one of the ORs are closed for the next few weeks, so they’re pulling us to other units.”

Alec winces. “That must suck.” 

Isabelle dismissively waves a hand. “It’s fine. I get to work with you. And I get to see what all the fuss is about.”

Alec coughs, something clinging onto his throat by mistake. He feels the back of his neck prickle.

“What fuss?” he tries to say in between coughs he’s trying to control.

Isabelle laughs, giving Clary a knowing look past Alec’s wall of a frame between them. “He thinks I wouldn’t know.”

Clary starts giggling, but quickly spins to the other direction when Alec looks at her incredulously. “I know nothing, I am but a spectator..”

“What lies did this devil child tell you?” Alec asks after finally clearing his throat.

Isabelle grins, picking off the small card taped carefully on top of one of the boxes. She peels the envelope open, takes it out with an exaggerated flourish, and reads with her eyes. Alec watches as her mischievous expression slowly morphs into one of neutrality, and then finally into one of complete and utter, heartwarming tenderness.

Alec looks at her. “What?”

“Alec,” Isabelle says like she might cry, “Oh Alec,” she hands him the card and Alec, almost sweating, reads on.

_To be here is to deal with the darkness of helpless sickness, and everyday I think about the life that is passing me by. But the kindest hearts thrive in the cruellest of places, and I’ve found many here, giving me solace in a time of hardship. To the people who walk the halls taking care of others before taking care of themselves, who take other’s hurt and makes it their own—thank you for all you do. _

_Thank you for being a steady hand to hold when my world was spinning. _

_ –Magnus_

Isabelle smacks a hand on Alec’s back.

“Don’t screw this up.” She sniffs, “_Tonto._”

Alec chuckles under his breath.

When Magnus gets wheeled back from to his room after his repeat X-ray, he finds a glazed donut sitting on a table napkin on the surface of his side table, a little post-it stuck right next to it. 

_Thanks for the treats; we really appreciate it. We also appreciate the fact that you remembered our favorite donut shop. We are flattered. (You need to try one for yourself. I fought Clary for this one.) –Alec_

Magnus smiles, trying hard not to laugh at the mental image of Alec and Clary clambering over each other to get the last donut on the box. Clary, that minx, would have put up a fight. Alec, that giraffe, probably suffered greatly for the win.

He looks down on his leg and sees his cast peek from under the blanket, like it’s trying to catch his attention and wrench him out of the joyful moment brought about by his earlier thoughts. A new one surfaces to his mind’s eye, an ugly, murky picture filled with the venom of insecurity. Even before he can turn away from it, it clings onto the folds of his mind, this awful monster, creeping down the muscles of his neck, travels down his spine—until he can feel his entire musculature clench in anxiety. He doesn’t know if the voice he hears is a voice outside his head or not, if there is one or two or an entire chorus’ worth. Whatever it is, it is drowned mercilessly by the undertow of his own mind—_**you finally got principal, but you fucked your leg up. You’ll take forever to heal, and even if you do, who knows if you’ll get back to prime shape? And when you do come back, everybody would have surpassed you, and there’s nothing for you to be had. You derailed the one thing in your life ever been good at. **_

Magnus feels the monster wrap around his lungs and it squeezes—he heaves his breaths, ragged and heavy, as he tries to push himself off the bed and towards the nearest wall where his crutches are settled against. He barely feels the light touch that grazes his arm, his eyes darting everywhere to find an escape, anywhere, anything, he needs to go—

_Hey.._

_ **There’s nothing out there for you.** _

_Mag.._

_ **Nothing.** _

_.. Breathe_

He throws the door of his bathroom open, plants one hand on the sink, and drops himself onto the covered toilet. His vision forms a vignette in its periphery, a shadowed ring slowly creeping in, crowding towards the center with darkness as his head begins to spin in an intensity that matches the pace of his breathing.

Everything goes dark and his world tilts fast, like a stack of bricks relenting itself to gravity.

The last thing he remembers is his shoulder and temple hitting something firm, the rumble of someone’s voice against his face, and a gentle but urgent hand against the side of his head. He hears a crinkling sound as something covers his mouth.

_Hey. _

Magnus eyes twitches beneath his eyelids.

_Hey. Magnus. _

His mind floats, the words around him vague and blurred like he is submerged under the sea, and he is slowly rising to the surface.

_Wake up, Magnus. _

Alec’s voice swells in his ears, coaxing him out of his underwater slumber, the form projected on his barely open eyes akin to the shadows the movement of the waves make on the ocean floor. He rises, rises, rises, until—

“Magnus.”

He breaks the surface.

Magnus wakes up. 

He drinks in, groggily, the images before him. 

His room is an utter mess. Tables hastily pushed aside, sheets crumpled beyond saving, a taken-apart cart squeezed into the small visitor’s space. Clary, Maia, and Meliorn is standing around his bed with a sense of urgency he hasn’t seen on their features before. There are other staff members he couldn’t recognize, a couple of them dressed in mint-green operating room scrubs. Most of them are filing out the room until all that’s left is the brightness of the procedure lights overhead.

His gaze falls on a familiar face when fingers touch his cheek and pushes, directing his gaze to the left. Dark hair, dark eyes, a sight for sore eyes.

Alec exhales, like he’s been holding a breath for long time and can finally let it go.

“There you are.”

Magnus smiles blearily. “There you are.”

“What happened?” Magnus grunts, pushing himself up higher onto the bed, wincing slightly at the spike of pain in his leg. There’s a blood pressure cuff on his arm that he only recognizes now.

Alec’s shoulders slump slightly. “You had a panic attack.”

“Oh.” Magnus says, throat suddenly dry. “Yes, that happens sometimes. I’ll be fine, though.”

Alec looks at Magnus carefully, concern drawing lines on his forehead. “This was a big one.”

“I have my moments, Alexander.” Magnus answers, trying for a smile which falters quickly, “Everybody does.”

“Magnus.” Alec presses, so firmly that it knocks the wind out of Magnus’ lungs, the gravity of everything sitting squarely on his chest. “_We called a code on you. _”

“We were _this close_ to pounding at your heart.” 

Magnus hears his breaths rattle into his nose, out through his mouth. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the harsh lines that have drawn themselves on Alec’s person—the slopes of his shoulders, drawn taut, the press of his lips, thin and blanched, the curl of his fingers, tight and white-knuckled. 

“Just—” Alec stumbles at his words, trying to grasp at the right ones.

“Just talk to me, Magnus.” He ends up saying, and to Magnus it sounds like the best words that could have been said. 

It blankets his shoulders. 

Holds his hands. 

Magnus blinks down onto his open palm, eyes bearing into the lines that crisscross like train tracks and road maps. He remembers his then sick mother, the years and years he has spent breaking his body for ballet, the _first time he’s ever tried to go on pointe_—his first broken ankle as a young dancer whose life revolved around his ability to perform, and that singular moment of weakness. One pill. Two pills. Three. Four Five Six S—

“Talk to me.”

Alec brings him back.

Finally, Magnus speaks, his voice hollow, but slowly seeking strength.

“Ballet is everything to me.” He starts.

And Alec listens.

It’s been days since the code blue alarm blared at room 34, and the next time he sees Magnus, he working with his ballet company’s choreographer. 

It’s the same man he catches Magnus arguing with almost a week ago, prominent cheek bones and the waves of his hair swept up. Still, he is meticulously dressed. _Ragnor_. Alec hears the name muttered in a fond annoyance he hasn’t heard Magnus use. Ragnor speaks with a superior drawl, and Alec could see how he could definitely prickle people with sensitive constitutions. They are in the middle of something, Alec notices, as he sees Magnus sitting at the very edge of his bed, casted leg relaxed in front of him. He can’t help the smile on his mouth when he hears Magnus’ voice from outside the room, irritated but light as air.

“Lorenzo? He can’t even bench press his dog, how in the world is he lifting Olesya?” He presses, and Ragnor rolls his eyes. “Xian’s better, and he doesn’t give lip.”

“Oh, please.”

“What?” Magnus challenges, “Am I wrong?”

Ragnor narrows his eyes at him. “You just think Lorenzo’s a dick.”

Magnus throws his hands in the air, exclaiming, “Of course I do! He _sucks_! He always has something to say about my technique! Is it too much to ask for him to grand jeté out of my damn way?”

Alec hears what could have been some semblance of a laugh from Ragnor, and Magnus breaks into a fit of giggles, a late appreciation of the genius of a joke organically coming about.

“Grand jeté out of my damn way..” Ragnor snickers, rubbing an eye, “You bastard.. Jesus, can we actually continue? I’m not here gossip, as satisfying as it is.”

Magnus settles, shaking the cobwebs from his muscles, pulling each arm in a stretch. “Okay, okay.”

The ward physiotherapist has cleared Magnus to start with ballet-specific exercises. Ragnor takes his phone and plays a classical tune, the piano notes soft and playful. He starts calling out movements and counting them out for Magnus to do, all modified to accommodate his injury. Alec leans on the frame of the door, watching curiously. 

“_Dégagé, tendu, close. À la seconde—dégagé, tendu, close. Fifth, and fifth, pas de cheval, and fifth, double pique, en voie pe. And one, and two, pas de cheval, double pique, out, in.._”

The words continue, and so does the motions. If seeing Magnus on that pamphlet is arresting, watching the real thing is otherworldly. Alec has never seen anything more beautiful, and it sounds like an appreciation for the superficial, but it’s true. Hard to notice through the bagginess of a hospital gown, but in his own clothes, Magnus begins to look closer and closer to his prime, ballet form. He’s never seen arms and legs so meticulously positioned but delicate in its grace, but Alec knows that every muscle fiber in Magnus’s body is aware and engaged just enough to feign the look of absolute ease. The movements ripple through the length of his back as he extends his upper body forward in a cambré; it rolls like a gentle wave from his shoulder, to the elbow, to the wrist, until it shifts the bones of Magnus’ hands, the port de bras splaying his fingers in mid-air like dust suspended endlessly in the sun—

A pinging sound shatters the moment. _**Incoming call from: Maia Roberts.**_

Alec almost jumps out of his skin.

Ragnor and Magnus whips their gaze towards his direction, and Alec fills with panic, jabbing his thumb repeatedly onto the Vocera badge like a lunatic.

He means to reject the call, but it goes through with a beep. _**Alec, your 50 bed 2 needs something for nausea.**_

_Alec_ needs something for nausea.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Alec stutters into the badge, shutting it close right away.

He turns to Magnus, who has a small, knowing smile on his mouth. Ragnor rolls his eyes. 

“Right. I’m getting myself a cup of coffee.” He says, passing Alec, who he regards for a few seconds. “I would ask if anyone wants anything, but you both look satiated enough.”

Alec feels like he’s on fire, and he probably looks like it too.

“Bye, Ragnor.” Magnus says pointedly, and with that, the man leaves.

Alec wishes he hadn’t.

“So, enjoying the view, I see?” Magnus flirts shamelessly, and though it is a blow on Alec’s pride, it is the first sign he sees that indicates that Magnus is sort of okay.

Alec takes a few steps forward, chuckling. “I wouldn’t say it that way, but I guess I was.” He smiles sincerely. “That was beautiful.”

Alec could see the softness that relaxes Magnus’ shoulders. Magnus returns sincerity with sincerity. “Thank you, Alexander.”

“But those were just barre exercises.” Magnus continues, “If I wasn’t going to be out of commission for the next few months, I would have invited you to my next performance.”

Alec remembers the pamphlet. “Oh?”

“Yes.” Magnus says, shifting his position in bed to face Alec better, “I was going to do the Nutcracker for the winter program, but—well.” He motions to his leg.

“I’m sorry.” Alec says.

Magnus smiles, shaking his head. “It’s okay. I’ve talked it out with someone.” He looks at Alec knowingly, appreciatively.

“Looks like you can do more and more every day.” Alec notes, “Soon enough you’ll be out of here.”

Magnus puts on a shoe, and pitches himself off the bed and onto his crutches. “In three days, actually. I just got my stamp of approval.”

“That soon.” Alec doesn’t realize the words tumbling out of his lips, and he blinks away the burn in his chest. “That’s great.”

Magnus smiles. “I guess it’s time to come back to the real world.”

Alec smiles back. “And the world awaits.”

Something shifts, and Alec is hyperaware of the elements around him. The clacking of Magnus’ crutches on the floor. The beam of sunlight slicing through the window and onto the bulk of Magnus’ shoulder. The trickle of something he can’t describe snaking its way down his gut—sadness? Yearning? And so suddenly, Magnus is almost a breath’s distance away, and this distance, _this one_—feels overwhelmingly right.

He sees the muscle on Magnus’ shoulder shift under his skin.

“Whatever’s out there, Alexander,” Magnus says, almost a whisper, “Couldn’t compare to you.”

A split-second passes and Magnus is the closest he’s ever been—everything builds and crumbles in endless, chaotic cycles in the pith of Alec’s chest, a fire roaring and settling over and over again, quiet anticipation squeezing the air out of his lungs, as a foot become inches and inches become cent—

A pinging sound.

_ **Incoming call: Clary Fray.** _

Alec breathes, and Magnus shifts, their once intersecting trajectories turning sharply away from each other, farther and farther with every second. Alec punches the Vocera badge on.

“Yes?”

_ **Hey Alec, 50 bed 2’s still asking for something for nausea? ** _

Alec swallows thickly, blinking the moment away. “Yeah, sorry, I’m coming.”

He turns to Magnus, who has already settled himself against the nearest wall. 

“I gotta go.”

Magnus nods, “Okay.”

Alec feels there are still words trapped from behind the cage of Magnus’ teeth, and it feels like half an explanation, half an apology.

Alec walks away, his chest a loud drum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments on the last chapter! I really do deeply appreciate it!  
You can talk to me more and be updated with the goings on of this fic on my twitter @nhixxie.  
I also follow and post stuff under the #aox3fic tag. <3


	3. Something sticky and sweet for you to swallow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suffer a little bit, but you'll be very happy in the end. ;)  
As per usual on twitter I follow #aox3fic and I'm also @nhixxie if you want to chat.

Alec glares at his phone, the screen filled with the number to his home unit.

He looks up to his wall clock, and it reads six twenty in the morning. The hospital stops taking sick calls by six thirty for day shifts. 

Alec has ten minutes to figure his shit out.

He sits on the side of his bed, hunched over with his elbows sitting on both knees, his cellphone cradled in the weave of his fingers. His phone almost glares back, as if to scold him on how ridiculous he is being.

Alec is trying his hardest to not call in sick. He is also trying his hardest to call in sick. There lies the inherent problem of this situation.

_You’re not sick, you liar_, he imagines his phone squawking, _Magnus wanted to kiss you, you wanted to kiss him, and then you run away. You just don’t want to face the consequences of your actions._

_So what? _ Alec thinks back indignantly, _Can’t I be fucking human once in a while?_

Alec jams his eyes shut, groaning. He haphazardly tosses the phone onto his bed and helplessly flops back onto the mattress, letting his body sink into the memory foam. He shakes his head at the stark white ceiling, cold and sterile in his eyes. _Jesus_, he thinks miserably, _I’m trying to fight my phone._

Again, the shadowed outlines of a familiar scene superimpose itself in Alec’s eyes. It plays against the backdrop of his ceiling like he’s watching an old film, grainy and poorly lit. It scratches through snapshots of longer moments—the shrunken distance between him and Magnus. The sunlight illuminating the shirt on his back. The slight shift of his shoulder as he draws closer than a breath’s distance.

And Alec couldn’t turn away.

He _wouldn’t._

This inexplicably unwavering want is not new. Alec has had many attractions before, though not as strong as this. But he knows his own nature. It endures, no matter how much it devastates all the potential relationships he could have had. He thinks he knows where walls are needed and when it needs to be erected from the ground up. In many encounters, he’s already cemented the foundation even before it starts, ready to slot the bricks in place if need be.

But with Magnus, everything falls apart. Alec rolls open the blueprint he’s used and follows it along, weaving cement and blocks together layer by layer as Magnus shines an arresting smile, offers an annoyingly adorable joke, hovers a hand just close enough for Alec to feel the phantom touch on his skin. Alec tries to build, and build, and build—a knee-jerk reaction he’s acquired through the years and years of stifling himself—only to realize someone has taken a sledgehammer to his work, and that the hammer is enclosed within his own hands. 

Alec faults himself. He knows he hasn’t drawn the line on the sand because he doesn’t want to. The only line between him and Magnus is the one he’s drawn in his brain, imaginary and self-serving, because he wants to—needs to—respect the professional boundaries that exist in his line of work, but wants—_needs?_—Magnus enfolded into his life. Instead, Alec thinks about not having the little pieces of Magnus he gets everyday, only to find it too heavy of a thought to bear. So, they skirt this vague line they both know of but don’t really enforce, like it’s malleable between the spaces of their fingers.

And then, that almost-kiss.

Alec rubs his hands over his face, torn. _Jesus Christ, Lightwood. What do you want? What **the hell** do you want? _

His phone squawks, for real this time, the alarm for six thirty in the morning blaring angrily at him. _Don’t be a coward_, it almost tells him. 

Alec uses sheer will power to get himself off the bed, straighten his scrubs, and head to the door. 

Whatever it is he wants is going to have to wait. 

When he gets to work, he trudges toward the assignment board. Clary is already standing there, surveying the allocation of patients between all the nurses for the day. She bumps hips with him, like she knows it’s going to soften Alec to the core. He smiles down at her and bumps her back. He traces his gaze over to where his name is scribbled on the board, and as he does, he feels her lean her head against his arm, consoling, almost. He doesn’t need to hold the question in his mind for a long time. He sees the answer looking at him right at the face.

Alec couldn’t help the stone’s weight that settles against his chest when he sees 34 missing on his usual assignment. He moves towards the assignment binder on the desk, flips to the list of nurses for the next two days, and in all mentions of his name, there’s a little note that says no 34 scribbled on. 

Maia settles a hand over his shoulder, lips pressed together in a smile that is really not.

Alec envisions the line he has drawn in his mind. The realization trickles down on him like thick, heavy molasses, threatening to root him on the spot. The moment he walked out of that room, that almost-kiss, with no words to be said, like birds in flight fleeing to escape winter, Magnus has already drawn a line of his own.

And his—his is real.

Alec tries to avoid room 34. 

He tells himself its to respect Magnus’ wishes, but it’s also to spare himself the heart ache. To see the line drawn on the sand is difficult. To see the man who drew it might just knock him off his equilibrium entirely. But the unit is insanely small, and there’s only so many places to go. He’s found himself straining his ears for the tell-tale clack of his crutches on the linoleum. When he does catch it in his periphery, he dives into the nearest available room, fumbling with the sink to wash his hands, or rifling through the supplies trying to busy himself. It’s all ridiculous, Alec understands, but necessary, he convinces himself. Today, his fight or flight response is bruised and overused, grating on every frayed nerve he already have. Not to mention the usual business of the unit doubles with this hide-and-seek strategy he chooses to play.

Magnus has been busy. Alec remembers that today is the proposed ballet performance Magnus has sought permission for a few days ago. Despite not seeing the man for most of the morning, he knows he’s been out and about the unit in preparation. A light buzz of anticipation hangs in the air, refusing to lift. The patients are talking amongst themselves in excitement, doing their morning walks with the physiotherapists just to peek into the dining hall where Magnus’ close company friends are setting up. Even the patients who’s been battling delirium for the past few days has being more cooperative.

The waft of fresh coffee reaches the nursing desk just as Alec settles into one of the chairs. His mouth instantaneously waters at the smell of freshly baked pastries that follows.

“Damn, that smells good.” Meliorn says, scrunching his eyes close to focus on the scent, “What time is the performance? We really should stagger our breaks so we can all watch.”

Alec shrugs, but his shoulders feel too heavy for it to look careless. “We can buddy up. I don’t mind missing it.”

Meliorn looks at him, mildly perplexed. “What do you mean? Are you swamped?”

Alec answers through his throat that has immediately dried. “Yeah. I might not be able to take a break completely, so you can just go whenever.”

“I can help you out you know, just give me some of your tasks—”

“I’m fine.” Alec must have released those words too quick, too snappishly, because there’s a look of surprise that changes Meliorn’s features.

“I’m sorry, Mel,” Alec sighs, “I’m just tired. Didn’t mean to snap.”

Meliorn shakes his head, rising from his chair. He pats Alec’s shoulder affectionately, like he knows but doesn’t know. “All good, Alec. Tell me if you need help.” Tasks or otherwise, Alec hears the words hang in the air, unsaid but undoubtedly there. 

Alec offers him a small smile. “Thanks.”

Meliorn gives him one last pat on the shoulder before walking away and into the next-door pharmacy, getting ahead of the workload and pulling out all his lunch time medications. Alec looks down at the computer to find the time: almost eleven-thirty. It feels like the morning just sped past him with no warning. 

Alec is about to get up from his own chair when he hears the tell-tale approach, and before he could figure out which way is up, Magnus is already standing by the nursing desk. They catch each other’s eyes like the presence of each other at this place, at this time, is unexpected. Like both of them have been wallowing in the confines of their own minds for a second too long that they failed to sense each other’s presences within the radius they’ve encircled around their own persons. Now, they’re here, both of them, in a failed hide-and-seek strategy.

Alec feels time _crawl_, a taunt to the moment. 

Magnus is the one to speak first. “Alec.”

Alec couldn’t square his body enough to be prepared for that punch in the gut.

“Hey.” Alec tries for a smile and it feels wrong, “Everything good?”

Magnus nods, also visibly trying to do the same, “Yes. We’re all set up. We can start at lunch time if it works for you guys.”

“Yeah, should be fine.” Alec almost croaks, throat tight, “I’ll tell Maia to get things going.”

“Thank you.” 

Even with the distance between them, Alec can see the grit of Magnus’ jaw, shifting the line of muscle in his cheek. There it is again, the half-apology, half-explanation that Alec doesn’t get to hear yesterday when he just about runs away from his room. The sight of it ripping at Magnus twists Alec’s lungs of its capacity to take air. 

“I’m sorry about yesterday.” Magnus’ words drop into a mutter, as if in shame, and Alec is wounded at the sight of it, wants to say _stop, don’t be sorry, it wasn’t a mistake_. But Alec couldn’t, not here, not in the open space of the nursing desk. 

“I didn’t even consider how it would have affected you or the work you do here.” Magnus continues thickly, “I was being selfish. And I apologize.”

Alec’s fingers move on its own accord, almost reaching out. “Magnus—”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Magnus says definitively, attempting a smile again, “I hope you come and watch later.”

And with that, Magnus disappears into the hall.

Alec tries to pick up where he left off, despite the axis of everything tilted out of place.

Magnus comes back to the dining hall and settles onto a chair, gingerly placing his crutches against the back.

His face must look completely unpalatable, because Madzie gracefully hops in his direction, face scrunched. “Magsie, are you okay?” she wonders aloud, peering closely at his face, “Why aren’t you happy?”

Magnus isn’t happy, he agrees, but he can’t help but soften at the words. He manages a smile and leans forward. 

“Magsie’s just having an overly dramatic moment.” He says through a huff of breath, winking playfully. He reaches over to fix the layers of tulle comprising her pink tutu. “But I’m very thankful you’re here, dearest. My friends are going to be so happy to watch you dance.”

Madzie nods gently. “Can you introduce me?”

Magnus chuckles, “Of course, love. They’ll be glad to finally meet you.”

Madzie, again, scrunches her face in curiosity. “Finally?”

“Yes. They’re a fan of your work.” Magnus allows himself to grin, motioning towards the jewel studded cast. It catches the sunlight from the nearby window and throws illumination onto the walls. The similar grin on Madzie’s face is enough to temporarily ease the gravity sinking him deeper and deeper into the earth. 

He sees point shoes pad towards their direction and settle right where Madzie stands. Gentle fingers splay themselves against Madzie’s arms, and Catarina leans down to meet her daughter’s eyes. “Can you and Auntie Dot go and make sure your music is set up, love? You know Uncle Ragnor’s forgetful.”

Madzie giggles from beneath the cover of both her hands and nods. She scurries off like a happy bunny, and even the sour Ragnor opens his arms in expectance of a hug from her. Dot doesn’t rise from her stretch on the floor, but blows her an affectionate kiss which Madzie happily returns. Magnus watches for a moment as Madzie bounces on the balls of her heel, peering into Ragnor’s phone as they scroll through the library of music saved in it.

Finally, Catarina says it. “You look like death personified.”

Magnus chuckles. “I’m aware.”

Catarina settles into the seat next to him, gentle like an autumnal leaf swaying in the wind until it touches the earth. His dear Catarina, with her strong shoulders pulled back, the line of her spine straight but still, so gentle. The first to tell him that he wasn’t wrong. A friend from even when their limbs were short and uncoordinated. 

“Ragnor told me about the boy.” She says, and there’s not much behind it. Just a commentary, a statement of a fact. An open invitation for Magnus to breach it or leave it. 

Magnus sighs small, blinking up. “I crossed a line with him, I think. A line he wasn’t ready to cross himself.”

“How do you know?” she asks.

He shrugs. “He walked away.” 

“Sometimes you over aggrandize.” Catarina says gently, “One of your bad traits. Also, you’re an insufferable flirt to hide your vulnerabilities.”

Magnus actually laughs. “Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

Catarina can’t help but chuckle too. “If that is my purpose as your friend, all you’ll get are thinly-veiled lies. And lies you never appreciate.”

“Well, that is true.”

Catarina leans forward, a slight movement in the line of her spine, “A wordless exit isn’t a definitive no. You fear refusal so much that you stop everything in its tracks to salvage yourself. Sometimes, people just need a bit more of something. A bit more time, a bit more thought, a bit more courage. Give Alec that.”

Magnus lifts his eyes, like the words have only penetrated halfway, but it’s on its way. Before it all sinks in completely, he hears the low grumble of many footsteps padding against the flooring, the excited intonations of voices in the air, and the squeal of a number of walkers needing oiling. Soon enough, the patients, nurses, and aids come filing in little by little, filling the space with bodies giddy with anticipation.

Catarina rises to her feet, gives Magnus a small but loving squeeze on his shoulder, and starts welcoming their audience warmly.

It takes Magnus a couple of beats to do the same as well. 

Alec watches as most of the unit files slowly into the dining hall, leaving the hallways as still as a statue. 

The noise empties out completely, nothing but the low murmurs of voices filling the halls, but even that sound starts to mellow out the farther he gets from the crowd. None of his coworkers are around either. Alec figures staggering their breaks wouldn’t be necessary when all their patients are in the same room. If anything, it eases the amount of effort needed to monitor them all. It leaves the unit soundless, like nobody has existed in these rooms for the past few months, but traces of lives lived—unmade beds, little personal trinkets on the side tables—are still present. Silent moments like these never really occur in a busy medical ward. 

The lack of environmental stimuli leaves Alec’s brain to fire on its own.

It’s no surprise that it’s Magnus’ words that immediately shoots to the forefront of his mind. 

_I’m sorry. I was being selfish. _

Alec hates the words. He hates that this is what Magnus is left to feel, like he’s taken advantage of the situation, when it’s Alec’s fault too. Not saying yes but not saying no, wanting but not wanting to want, a jumbled mix of signals that they can’t possibly interpret clearly without the both of them sitting down and untangling all the knots, together. Beneath all that, Alec thinks of his stubborn insistence of being alone, why he feels like he’s about to get burned when someone gets too close, and grazes the heat of a memory he’s kept down for a long time. He puts out the flame before it swells into a fire.

Alec knows he needs to do something, soon. Magnus is leaving in a couple of days, and like the red string of fate being snipped apart, there might not be anything but a frayed end to hold onto if he doesn’t move.

Alec looks at the complete mess of a wall he’s built and broken at the same time.

_Okay. First step_, Alec tells himself, _go watch._

He wills his feet forward and starts making his way. When he rounds a corner, he sees Georgina doing the same, her four-wheeled walker smoothly rolling against the floor. He remembers the brain-numbing squeak it used to emit; Alec took it upon himself to fix it for the sake of everybody in the unit. 

Georgina’s lips break into an affectionate smile as she sees him. “Oh, Alec, dearest.” she says happily, her voice splintering with age.

Finally, Alec lets a true smile rest on his own mouth. “Georgie,” He says, jogging slightly to walk by her side, “You’re late. I would have thought by now you’ve settled into a seat since you’re always on time.”

“Well, the extra water pills they’ve been giving me has been doing it’s job.” she chortles, shaking her head, “My bathroom could very well be my second home.”

Alec laughs. “Don’t start nesting now. We want you to go home, as much as we love having you here.” He places a gentle hand on her back. “You excited?”

Georgina sighs, a hand to her heart. “Yes. It’s been so long since I last watched ballet. What a lovely man, Magnus is, don’t you agree?”

_Yes. Deeply_. Alec chooses other words. “I think it’s self-serving.”

Georgina looks at him quizzically, “How so?”

Alec makes a point to roll his eyes for effect. “This is obviously to one-up me and take the top spot on your favorites list.”

Georgina laughs, the memories of Alec and Magnus fresh in her mind. “You both make my frail heart too happy.”

Alec shakes his head, chuckling as he remembers. Georgina is mid-way between raising a spoonful of soup to her mouth when they barrel through her door in a wild frenzy. She wails in response, sending her utensil flying in the air where it tumbles over itself and finally, landing on Magnus’ face. Magnus loses it completely, his laugh strained and unabashed, leaning completely against his crutches for support. It’s a mirror image of Alec crumpled in laughter moments ago, a situation truly reversed. 

_Earth to Magnus_, Alec mimics through laughter, leaning over his shoulder, _come back Magnus_, and he gets a wheezy _shut up_ in return.

When they arrive at the dining hall, soft piano music has already started. Madzie has taken the floor, twirling in gentle circles on tip toes, her arms positioned gracefully over her head. Her pink tutu flutters around her like butterfly wings, and it softens every single soul in the room. Alec quietly helps Georgina into the first available seat, somewhere in the back, and takes the one next to her.

Between the sway of the melody that settles like atmosphere around them and the smell of baked pastries in the air, Alec can close his eyes and find himself in a different place and time. He looks out at the faces he sees everyday, familiar but completely different today. He sees Victor at the middle of the crowd, eyes glistening, like he’s watching his own grand-daughter dance before him, because his own he could only see once every week. Aadesh sits at the far end, his features filled with understanding, because this he understands, this doesn’t confuse him the way the language barrier between him and everybody else does. Dominica is smiling for the first time in the last three days, like the dementia has released its hold on her mind just enough to allow these new, happy memories to permeate. 

Alec sees Magnus if not seeks him. He almost half expects him to be looking at his favorite little girl, watching with hands over his heart, but instead his gentle eyes sweep over the same faces Alec looks at. His eyes gaze at Stefania, Letti, Bernie, and Damien, at the patients who’s bequeathed a few moments of peace as they watch the performance unfold before them. He bears witness to the smiles that form around bites of croissants and danishes because it’s been months since they’ve had anything else to eat than what the hospital offers. Magnus’ lips quirk into an affectionate smile, sniffing, as he averts his gaze onto his hands momentarily as if to steady himself.

“Dearest,” Alec hears a gentle whisper beside him, and it’s Georgina, like she’s been watching Alec the whole time, “It’s not my business, but the last time I saw someone look at another person like that, I was walking down the aisle.”

Alec doesn’t know what to say.

Madzie finishes and dips into a bow, and a round of applause fills the air. 

“He’s a lovely man.” She says as she claps, “And he’s leaving in two days.”

Magnus gives Madzie a hug before standing up briefly to introduce Dorothea. 

“I trust that my favorite boy isn’t dim enough to let someone he likes go.”

It is in the middle of Dorothea’s performance that Izzy finally finds her way to the dining hall. 

Izzy clasps a hand over her heart, relieved. Alec gets up as quietly as he could and offers her the seat. She shakes her head no, _I’ll stand_, and just because Alec truly missed her, he abandons his seat and stands by the door jamb too. 

“How are you, mi hermano?” Izzy whispers, winding an arm around his waist affectionately, and in all honestly, he doesn’t know what to say. He gives her a half truth.

“Could be better. You?” he asks in a similarly hushed tone, settling an arm over her shoulder, “Your shift killing you yet?”

“Not quite yet.” Izzy grins, “I’m a tough bitch.”

Alec snickers. “Yeah, one of those two things are definitely correct.”

Izzy _pinches_ in a spot that Alec would rather not name, and it takes every single fiber of his being not to yelp. He looks down at her, bamboozled, before returning the favor and landing a pincer like grip on her side. 

“_Alec_!” Izzy bites down, gritting her words between her teeth, “_We’re watching something fancy! _”

“_You started it, gremlin_.” He grits back, only to be slapped on the hand.

“Shush, I wanna watch.” Izzy urges, just as the orchestral music swells in the air.

The way Dorothea moves to engulf the empty space available to her is indescribable. Her movements are soft but with muted power behind them, her muscles working double time to flourish every step with feigned ease. With the rise of the music through the speakers, her leg steps back into a plié, rises again to a passé, and elegantly spins into pirouettes, her arms held across her chest in a meticulous position. She finishes with a series of piqué tours en dehors, a line of small of graceful spins and finally ending on a pose, one arm curved at her front, and the other extended skywards, her spine tilted backward in a statuesque lunge.

Izzy gasps as music stops in a definitive flourish, hands covering her mouth, joining the avid applause that has erupted in the room. Even Dorothea’s deep curtsies look like performances in itself. Magnus rises from his seat, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Alec remembers the sight of Magnus stretched in majestic cambré, a memory from yesterday that feels centuries old, and wonders if he’d ever have the chance to see him fully perform.

If Dorothea is gentle strength, Catarina is strong grace. 

She doesn’t dance to the usual soft, piano melodies that are so closely connected to ballet, but instead, the music she chooses is that of a violin solo, playful and scratchy, accompanied by an underlying bass. Her performance is modern, striking, almost a fusion of modern jazz and ballet that results in a strong, contemporary performance. Alec sees the elements of ballet in her movement, but instead of gentle curves and sweeping parabolas, there are extended lines and pointed angles. A sharp protest to the classicality of ballet. He realizes that in essence, this is who Catarina is: an African-American woman from Alabama dancing in an industry heavily favoring the antithesis of who she is. It makes sense for Magnus and her to find each other, endearingly fitting. 

A hand finds its way onto his shoulder, and finds that it’s Jace. He looks around in soft wonder, waving slightly at Izzy who now sits at one of the chairs at the back. 

“Wow. This is amazing.” He murmurs.

Alec quirks a corner of his lips. “Yeah.”

Jace leans against the door frame right next to him, arms crossed over the chest of his white lab coat. Alec could almost hear the weight shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, a quirk he’s had since they were kids. Alec has known Jace long enough to know there’s something that needs to be said between the two of them. 

“Spill it.” Alec says under his breath, leaning on his side of the door jamb as well.

“This thing with Magnus,” Jace says, “How serious?”

Alec refuses to let the muscle on his shoulders seize, so he rolls them backward, neck stretching sideways until he hears a small crack. 

“I don’t know.” He answers under his breath, “We haven’t even talked about it.”

Jace throws him a look at his periphery, and Alec doesn’t return it. “Why not?”

“A bit complicated, Jace,” Alec says, breathing out the annoyance he suddenly feels, “Him being my patient and all.”

“I don’t believe you.” Jace says simply, and it flares something in Alec.

“Not the right time, not the right place.” Alec mutters, feeling a frown starting to crease his brow.

Jace turns to him completely now. “Then make it the right time and the right place.” He walks off into the hall, expectantly looking back to see if Alec would follow suit. Alec grits his teeth, jamming his eyes shut in frustration, but ultimately pushes himself off his leaned position and stalks out of the room. They find a spot in the hall farther from the crowded room, and finally, Jace issues the confrontation he’s been holding onto for what it feels like the past couple of days.

“You do this every single time someone gets too close.” Jace says, and if he’s trying to reign in the accusatory tone in his voice, it’s not working very well.

“Where the hell is this all coming from?” Alec asks, confusion and anger coming together like a brewing typhoon.

“I’m your best friend, Alec,” Jace starts, “I know—"

Alec interrupts him. “You being my best friend doesn’t give you first dibs to micromanage my life.”

Jace chuckles under his breath, and there’s something infuriating in the way he does it. “One day, Alec, you’ll figure out that being alone fucking sucks, and by then it would’ve been too late.”

“Listen to me, Jace,” Alec says seriously, hands punctuating his point like a period suspended in the space before him, “If I want a relationship or not, if I die alone or not, it’s _my_ decision, okay? So drop it, _now_.”

Jace shrugs. “I won’t.”

“Why the hell is this your problem to solve?” Alec demands, “Because of what happened seven years ago? Look, my life doesn’t revolve around your rejection, okay? It may seem unbelievable, but not every fucking thing is about you.” 

The last words come out in a spit of barely withheld fury, and with the way Jace looks at him, angrily wounded, the release of it leaves a burnt trail.

“Then why the hell do I feel like I’ve lost you?” Jace bitterly challenges, and there’s a sudden silence that pierces their heated conversation. 

Jace fumes, shoulders lifting and settling with the breaths he heaves into his lungs, but behind it all, there’s the burn of hurt. “I’m your brother, Alec, and there’s nothing about you that I know anymore.”

Alec’s glare softens to a frown, and then softens to something that could only be described as guilt. 

“I don’t know what you do.” Jace mutters, dejection heavy in his eyes, “I don’t know where you go, I don’t know who you _like_. So when you tell me not everything is about me, believe me, I know. I know when I’ve been carved out, so just—” he pauses, like something catches in his throat, “Tell me if it’s something that I did.”

“I’ll deal with it and I’ll go.” Jace struggles to continue through a tight throat, “Because I can’t bear the thought that I’ve fucked up your ability to love a person because I can’t give you more than what I could.”

Alec looks back at the face he knows for such a long time, and sees many things. Scratched elbows and knees. Lunches shared across picnic tables. University applications strewn over desks. He doesn’t allow himself to surface past seven years ago, because here is the wrong place, the wrong time. But what persists in his mind are echoes of words, said from the moment Alec has stepped one foot out of the closet, until he’s had the courage to take the other. Bruised and bloody fists. Blonde hair strewn with sweat. A protective arm across him, protecting him from harm, but not from words hurled from afar. Hands pressed against Alec’s spindly shoulders. _You’re not wrong_. 

His protector. His brother. His Jace. 

“It’s me.” Alec finally says, admits the words out loud, “It’s been me, for a long time.”

Jace presses his lips together, eyes gentle with concern. 

“After all of it, I just couldn’t find my way.” Alec continues, voice scratchy, “And I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Jace murmurs, leaning a shoulder onto the wall, “I haven’t been the best brother of the year either.”

Alec smiles, shaking his head. “Big old fuck ups, the two of us.”

Jace snickers. “I would hug you, but you suck.”

Alec laughs. 

“Yeah, I deserve that.”

“Look, Alec,” Jace says, endearingly soft, “I know you. You are the most caring, loving person I know. And there’s a person out there who would gladly take all of what you’ve been dying to give." 

"You just have to let him.”

When they come back to the dining hall, Catarina has settled into a graceful bow, and the sound of applause that rises from the crown is deafening. 

Alec lets the sound buoy him away.

Alec adjusts the strap that is hitched on his shoulder and shifts his weight from one foot the other.

He inhales, then exhales. 

Inhales, exhales.

In—_Just fucking do it, Lightwood_, he hears Jace’s voice in the back of his head, almost feels the nudge he would have buried on his shoulder.

Of course, imaginary Jace is right. All these are just excuses to defer the unavoidable. The unavoidable, but necessary. Alec is off tomorrow. He’s back on a night shift the next day, and by the time he’s back to work, Magnus is gone.

The thought of it curls tendrils in Alec’s stomach. 

_Fucking do it_. 

Alec rubs the soft skin around his eyes, fists his fingers to his side, and finally crosses the threshold of room 34. He raps his knuckles onto his open door. 

“It’s Alec.” He calls, and he curses at his voice, rough and cracked, like it lost all its strength. 

It takes a moment, like a thought is being mulled over, and Magnus finally answers back.

“Come in.”

Alec takes the curtain and pushes it open slightly, just enough to let himself pass, and sees Magnus seated at the side of the bed, folding his clothing neatly into a pile. Magnus raises his gaze to meet Alec’s, gentle but with underlying strain, and the smile he offers him doesn’t reach his eyes either.

“Hello, Alec.” Magnus says, the words so foreign sounding without the usual affection it usually comes with, “How’d you find today’s program?”

Alec shuffles further in, hands wiping unconsciously against the cloth of his scrubs. “It was great. Unbelievable.” He almost croaks, so he clears his throat, “I wish it was you up there, though.”

He throws the words out, testing it in the air, trying to get a feel of what Magnus would be okay with at this point in time. His heart softens when Magnus chuckles, the truest chuckle he’s heard from him since he’s drawn his own line on the sand. 

“I don’t think our friends here are ready to see men in tights.”

Alec chuckles back, shaking his head slightly. “No, I don’t think so too.”

Another lull of silence permeates the air, and Alec, with a resolve of a man running out of time, moves to break it.

“Magnus, I just wanted to say,” Alec starts, “Yesterday wasn’t your fault.”

Something shifts in Magnus’ eyes, like the memory of it washes him with embarrassment, and seeing it a second time makes Alec’s body clinch in pain. 

“You weren’t taking advantage of me.” Alec frowns at the thought, one that is so far from the truth that he can’t even bear saying it aloud. He takes a smell step forward, “If I didn’t want to—I would have said no.”

Magnus eyes doesn’t lift. “You didn’t say yes, either.”

“It’s because I’m an idiot, and I don’t know what I want.” Alec supplies easily, and he sees the small quirks of Magnus’ lips despite not meeting his gaze. “I just need—”

“A bit more time.” Magnus supplies back, the murmur leaving his lips with a tone of understanding. 

Alec breathes, nodding slightly. “Yeah.”

Alec looks back at the time that has passed—_seven days_—and yet here he stands, a collection of intimate knowledge of Magnus that should have been stretched out into years. He’s witnessed his past vulnerabilities, he’s seen the terror on his face when a stifling panic attack sets in, he’s heard the upward tilt in his voice when he starts talking about why he loves ballet—he knows the way his hair sweeps to the side when he falls asleep. 

And Magnus sits there, a collection of Alec as well. Magnus knows the sound of Alec’s sobs. He’s seen the way he throws himself in his work because he cares too quickly, too intensely, too broadly. He’s heard the muted, faraway sorrow in his voice at the mention of his grandmother. He’s felt the Alec’s shaky grip in his own as he works through the death of a beloved patient. 

They’re intertwined so thoroughly that being out of each other’s radiuses feels unnatural.

Alec takes as many steps forward as his walls can muster, as close as he can get without his knees giving way. He feels the toe of his shoe almost touch the heel of Magnus’ sneaker. 

He offers his hand gingerly—an anchor. A five-minute handshake. 

Magnus doesn’t lift his gaze, but takes what Alec gives him. But instead of hands clasped together, he allows himself to run his fingertips against Alec’s palm, slipping into the crevices of his fingers, intertwining instead of holding. Magnus can hear the slight breath that escapes Alec’s lips, and Alec curls his fingers against his like he’s waited for this for many eternities. 

It isn’t a kiss, but it’s all that they can have today.

“I’ll wait.” Magnus says, softly.

They stay in that snapshot of a moment for as long as they can.

Alec sits in front of Isabelle, fingers absent-mindedly working against a spot on his left hand. 

In his periphery, he feels Isabelle watching him carefully as she chews through her breakfast, an elbow propped against the edge of the table. Alec knows her speculative brain is turning its gears, and right then and there he feels like bacteria under a microscope. Izzy makes it a point to show him the big gulp of food she takes, as if to signify that she’s done waiting and watching, and taps the surface of their shared café table.

“Okay, _mi hermano_.” Izzy says with a _let’s get down to it_ tone, “What’s wrong?”

Alec presses his lips together and allows his eyes to drink in his surroundings. People are shuffling through the café, sun-lit voices rising from the tables across them. Izzy looks like her usual self, notably dressed up whenever she’s on her day off, eyes lined with kohl and mouth painted red, something she always misses when she’s working in the hospital. The only thing of difference is that her eyes and lips are creased in concern.

“Alec.” She calls, leaning forward, the furrow in her brow more apparent. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Alec blinks, “I’m fine.”

“Right.” Izzy says, her tone betraying her suspicion, “Our weekly Lightwood sibling brunches are about shit-talking awful doctors, and weirdly enough, you’ve got nothing to say.”

The corner of Alec’s lips quirks fondly. These little get togethers has saved Alec’s sanity many times the past few years. “I haven’t had an asshole in a while.”

Izzy snorts, a vision so garish on her dainty face, but it’s so the Isabelle Alec knows. 

Alec laughs a little. “What?”

Izzy shakes her head, still grinning. “I was just imagining what god-forsaken sexual innuendo Magnus would have shot back to what you just said.”

Alec feels a thundering combination of rising laughter and stinging fervor boil in his stomach at the thought, and somehow, the laughter wins. He knows what Magnus would have said too. It would be the dirtiest thing in existence, but the brightness that would pull at Magnus’ smile and touch his eyes would have Alec’s heart warm with sunlight. 

He must look the way he feels, because Izzy melts.

“Alec.” Izzy says, smiling, hand against her heart in the sincerest way, and if Alec looks closer, there may be the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “You really like him.”

Alec wonders if it’s even worth it to feign indifference, but this is Izzy, the person he knows best, the person who knows _him_ best, the person who he’s had on his side in every battle waged physically or mentally, against others or against his own self. To lie to her is to lie to himself, and it would have been a futile waste of energy.

“Yeah.” Alec nods, throat tight, but on his lips a soft smile. “I do.”

Izzy’s eyes bear onto him, and she presses her lips together like she’s stifling a sniff. “You deserve to be happy, Alec.” She says softly, “I know you’re still hard on yourself.”

Alec doesn’t need more to know what Izzy is referring to. He remembers the story, and this time, he lets it fill him up, submerging him completely. He feels the memories of it like it isn’t conjured from a good seven years ago—an attraction so magnetic it uprooted him from where he stood. A one-way relationship hidden behind the guise of close friendship. A love so heavy to bear that he carried it upon his shoulders since childhood, reciprocated as intensely, but not in the same way. He knows the conversation that was had about it, every word exchanged inscribed on his brain, the ‘_I just need you to know_’s, and the ‘_I love you back no matter what way you love me_’s, and their promise to not let the words fracture them. The walls he raises as a knee-jerk reaction to anything that potentially looks like the same scenario. Alec remembers it all, but doesn’t feel the tilt it usually causes on his axis. He doesn’t feel the weight it usually deposits on its chest. It almost feels like it isn’t his story at all.

He feels his way through himself in search of what has changed—and he finds Magnus.

Where cracks and fissures used to lie, there Magnus is, permeating into the hollowness like liquid gold. The way he fills Alec in the short amount of time they’ve known each other is almost frightening, but the warmth that blankets Alec’ shoulder at the thought of him shushes every other thought into silence. The smiles, the soft words, the anchor they provide each other, the brush of fingers against his ankle, the stories shared under the dim of the night shift lights, the trust it deposits deep into themselves. The image of Magnus smiling tenderly at the elderly faces he’s made happy—a kind, giving heart exposed for the entire universe to see. 

“God.” Alec murmurs and he’s not even aware of it. He clamps his mouth shut at the realization blinks glassy eyes at Izzy, who blinks glassy eyes back. They unexpectedly burst into laughter, backs pressed against their chairs, head thrown back. 

“Weekly Lightwood sibling brunches has gotten so touchy-feely.” Izzy breathes, shaking her head.

Alec chuckles. “It used to be just ranting about shitty docs.”

“It still is.” Izzy says, smiling, and then asks, “So when are you gonna go for it? Pretty iffy to be dating your patient.”

Alec catches the inside of his bottom lip, working it between his teeth. “He won’t be, tomorrow.”

“So, tomorrow.” Izzy says.

Alec nods. “Tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

They get back to the food they’ve forgotten, and Izzy is about to delve into her story of the week featuring one asshole cardiac surgeon, when her eyes light up in remembrance.

“_I haven’t had an asshole in a while_. What would Magnus have said?” she asks curiously.

Alec laughs, smitten to the high heavens, reciting the answer by heart. 

“I’d like to gladly offer mine.”

Tomorrow comes and Alec arrives to the unit for a singular night shift. 

It’s a pretty quick turn around to go from days to nights with one day off in between, but honest to god, Alec has done worse. He remembers working five night shifts in a row, having two days off to reorient his body clock, and then switch to five day shifts. It is seven layers of excruciating hell, and he remembers being the crankiest piece of work in existence, but he makes it through. This isn’t really the thing of importance tonight.

Alec chooses to slip into the back entrance of the unit, and upon doing so, walks past the rooms in the low thirties. Room 30, 31, 32, 33, and then 34 looms into his periphery. His heart thunders madly in an electric storm of fear and anticipation as his eyes sees nothing but wall, until it doesn’t—and immediately he sees Magnus’ form sitting on the edge of his bed. His hands work to pack the remainder of his belongings into his duffel bag, and just as Alec allows himself to lean onto the door jamb, Magnus’ eyes flicker up to greet him. 

Alec smiles, soft. “Hi.”

Magnus does the same, sincere. “Hi.” He says through lips quirked at the corners, “How was yesterday?”

Alec remembers brunch and glassy eyes. “Enlightening.” He admits. 

Magnus nods, looking deep into himself, and agrees. “Mine too.” 

Alec regards the duffel bag. “Just about finished packing?”

“Ready to go.” Magnus says, and there hangs something heavy, a prompt, a question, hopefully expectant but softly patient—_will you search for me out there_?

_I’ll follow you anywhere_, Alec wants to say, but for now, he chooses different words.

“Wait for me?” he echoes the words from before, only it means _I’m almost there_. 

Magnus smiles small, and he reaches out, fingers moving in the space before him, like he’s running his fingers through Alec’s hair from a distance. “Of course.”

Alec’s chest warms like the early morning sun. He grasps at the space to his face where Magnus’ hand would have been if not for the distance, and places it lovingly against his cheek. He imagines the skin that he would be privy to feel, soon. 

“See you tomorrow.”

At three in the morning, Alec sees Georgina shuffle towards the kitchen, kettle already half-way filled with water and on its way to a slow boil.

There are two mugs ready on the counter by the time she arrives, two teabags already settled within each of them. She beams up at someone in gentle gratitude, and all it takes is the few clacks of crutches to signify that it is Magnus.

Alec doesn’t make an entire spectacle of it, but he allows himself a small glimpse past the corner. 

He sees Magnus leaning mostly onto the counter, both crutches tucked under his left arm, and there’s a laugh slowly blooming across his tired face. Georgina echoes the same happiness, and she swats away Magnus’ free hand when he tries to reach for the kettle and pour the water for both of them. _You let me do it, Magnus, she says gently, this is the only thing I know how to do._

Alec turns away before he loses himself in the melancholic softness that fills Magnus’ eyes. 

(_Okay_, he hears Magnus says, _you make better tea, anyway_.)

The rest of the night shift is awful.

Georgina turns for the worse, and Alec as at her bedside, trying to soothe her into peace. 

She is plunged into hysteria, confusion muddling her brain the same way it did the first time she is admitted into the hospital, six months ago. She rips her IV, frail, arthritic hands clasping the railings of her bed they are forced to erect for her safety. She shakes the metal like she a bird wanting freedom from her cage, but instead of chirping melodies (_sweet like molasses_) she screams and cries.

“No, no, let me go, _please_, I want to go home,” Georgina sobs, her voice splintering, “Let me go, I want to go home!”

“Georgie,” Alec says, breaths escaping his lungs faster than he can take them, “Georgie, please, calm down.” He tries to hold her hand, a gesture that usually brings her down from the mania of her mind, but she pushes his hands away, terrified. It hurts as much as a punch to the gut.

“I don’t know you!” she wails, “Get away from me!!”

She doesn’t know where she is. She doesn’t know when it is. She doesn’t know who she is.

They pull a health care aid from the floor and lets them sit by Georgina’s bedside.

Alec walks out of the room, closing the door to spare the other patients of the heartbreaking sound. His dear Georgina. His lovely airplane technician. The one who brews tea at three o’clock in the morning. The one who has the same eyes as his grandmother. He runs a hand over his face, fingers pressing into his eyes in frustration.

He pulls the anti-psychosis medication from his pockets, gazing at it for what it feels like a long while. Magnus rounds the corner, concern splayed across his face. He settles to a stop in front of Alec. Alec notices the two mugs of tea on the kitchen counter, already lukewarm and bitter to the taste.

“What’s going on?” Magnus asks under his breath, “Is it Georgina?”

Alec doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t really have to for Magnus to put the pieces together.

Magnus’ eyes fall on the medication in Alec’s hands, and he breathes. “Let me try.” He says, “She may remember me better since we’ve met recently.”

Alec shakes his head, his words a murmur. “It’s not on you to do this.” He meets his eyes. “You’re a patient here, and you don’t deserve this responsibility.”

“Alexander.” Magnus almost whispers, “My grand mother, she had dementia, and the haloperidol—it changed her little by little, every time she was given it.”

Alec works worry onto his bottom lip.

“Alexander, please.”

Alec’s shoulders loosen, softens at the name he is called, and as with everything Magnus wants from him, he relents. “Okay. But I’ll be standing by.”

“Okay.”

Alec opens the door for Magnus, and both of them enter the room. Alec politely motions for the health care aid to give them a moment, and when she vacates the visitor’s chair, Magnus settles into it. He looks at Georgina, eyes gilded with the pain of remembrance, and gently places a hand over the ones she has clasped over the railing.

“Georgina,” he says under his breath, “Love, do you remember me?”

She gingerly peers past the railings, opening her swollen eyes. Alec and Magnus both see the way the terror crumbles from her face, piece by piece, and behind it lives relief.

“Magnus,” Georgina murmurs, eyes glistening at the fluorescent lights, “Magnus, you’ve come?” Her fingers unfurl its vice-like grip on the railings, and she reaches out a shaky hand towards his direction. He takes both his hands and presses them against Georgina’s, a lighthouse in a coast rattled by a storm. 

“Of course, love.” He answers, and something in the pith of Magnus’ voice breaks, “I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”

Georgina sniffs, her head shifting against the pillow that cradles it. “I don’t know where I am, Magnus. I don’t know what’s happening.”

Magnus presses his hands tighter against hers. “It doesn’t matter right now, Georgina.”

“You can think you’re wherever you’d like to be.” He says solemnly, “You can think you’re on vacation, you can think you’re at work fixing airplanes, you can think you’re at home.”

“Wherever your mind finds peace,” Magnus murmurs, “You’re there.”

Alec watches, in silent, gentle awe.

“Just close your eyes, find peace, and sleep.”

Magnus smiles, blinking away the glassiness in his own eyes.

“Tomorrow, we can figure it out.”

When Alec and Magnus finally step out of Georgina’s room, it is already five forty-five in the morning, and there is a soft, orange haze that starts to peek above the horizon. From afar, Alec could see the other nurses buzz back to life as they start prep work for the morning grind. They stay under the darkness of the dimmed halls for what it feels like centuries.

Alec turns to Magnus, cutting the respectable distance they’ve unconsciously settled into by taking a few steps forward. 

“Thank you,” he starts, and realizes he has faltered into the same words he’s said before, “For that.”

Magnus shifts the crutches underneath his arms, a tired smile on his lips. “I’m glad to help.” He says. He regards the traces of sorrow in the lines of Alec’s face, a heart-breaking remnant of what has transpired.

“Alexander.”

Alec blinks up, unaware of how his gaze has wandered. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Magnus asks.

He gulps down the thickness in his throat, and something in Magnus’ eyes compels the truth easily from him. “Not right now, no. But I will be.” he answers, and asks the question back, “Are you okay?” Alec remembers the grief of remembrance that hangs over Magnus’ shoulders as he talks to Georgina.

“One of the strongest people I know once said,” Magnus says, “_You’re in pain, and hiding behind a stunning smile won’t change that_. So, not right now, no. But I will be.”

Alec couldn’t be softer at the words. He diminishes their distance to a foot, and like Magnus has done earlier, moves his fingers in the space before him, sweeping but not sweeping the hair that has obscured Magnus’ eyes. Magnus chuckles, and holds but not holds Alec’s palm against his cheek.

Alec holds Magnus’ eyes in his. _Wait for me_? 

Magnus does the same. _Of course_.

The hall lights turn on and everything plunges into brightness, moving every piece of the unit into motion. 

They both walk away, opposite trajectories, for the last time. 

Aline calls in sick for the upcoming day shift, and Alec is forced to stay on mandatory overtime. 

_I’m sorry_, Alec, she says miserably through the phone, her voice cracked and heavy with the cough she’s nursing, _I just can’t today_.

“Don’t be sorry, short stop.” Alec smiles, “Rest up. Tell me if you need anything.”

As usual, Valentine Morgenstern spares no pity for the nurses he dooms, and when he mandates Alec to stay, he doesn’t even bother to come to the unit and does it over the phone. Whether it’s laziness to make the long trek from the hospital or cowardice to face his inability to staff properly, it doesn’t matter. Alec doesn’t spare him any deference either. 

Alexander, you’re going to have to stay and work for the four hours, sorry.

Alec rolls his eyes, “Yes, I’m sure you are.” He ends the call with a tumultuous bang, and with that, he drops on the chair. 

Clary hovers over his shoulder and and peers into his eyes. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Pancakes.” Alec mutters, sleep already beckoning, “Can you get me that?”

Clary grins. “And a large coffee?”

Alec nods, letting his eyes rest for a few moments. “Black.” 

“Like your soul.” Clary giggles, and Alec laughs tiredly, swatting her away. She gives him a quick hug before ducking out.

Getting mandated is quite truly hell on earth, and one of the reasons why Alec sometimes hate the profession he’s in. No other regulated profession is forced to do extra labor due to lack of staff. Some mandations are better than others, but nights into days is extremely hard. After a long night of screwing with your body’s natural sleep cycle, the extra four hours of being up could be the difference between exhaustion and sickness. Not to mention the possible errors that a sleep-deprived brain could commit. He’s going to need to quadruple check his morning medications today. 

Alec rubs at his eyes, forcing them awake, and manages to look up at the discharge board. 

Room 34 is listed on it, a small sad face scribbled next to it, undoubtedly done by Clary as she worked on the board earlier. 

Despite the tiredness, Alec smiles. 

There’s so much to look forward to, here on out. 

The morning grind on one hour of sleep sends Alec into a haze of undecipherable tasks. 

His body moves in autopilot as he rechecks vital signs, gather medications, and dispense it to each of his six patients for the next four hours. Georgina is still asleep in her bed, calmer now, but the devastation from the night’s events still apparent in the paleness of her skin and heaviness under her eyes. Alec tells the constant care aide to call him when she finally wakes up, and he gets an _of course_ in return. He tries not to dwell on last night, and focuses on entering this morning’s charting instead. 

He asks Andrew if it’s okay if he goes on first break to squeeze a thirty-minute shut-eye, and Andrew waves him off into the break room with no questions asked. He grabs a pillow from the supply cabinet, makes the trudge towards the couch and collapses on it. He sets an alarm for thirty minutes, pulls his hoodie over his head, and snuggles his face into the pillow. He lets a light sleep claim him for the time being. 

What wakes him up even before his alarm rings is the smell that gently coaxes his brain online. Alec blearily opens his eyes, body immediately stretching into a yawn that makes his back creak. When he gets most of his bearings back, he walks to the source of the intoxicating smell and sees a to-go box resting on the table. 

He pops the lid open, revealing warm pancakes, already buttered and drizzled with syrup. A cup of black coffee steams to the side. He picks off the note taped on the lid.

_Something sticky and sweet for you to swallow ;) _

Alec chuckles tiredly, smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. He murmurs affectionately, “Points.”

His alarm squawks annoyingly from where he left it on the couch, so he swipes it shut and shovels as much of breakfast he can consume in thirty seconds. He takes his coffee out to the desk where he can nurse the headache that’s starting to knock at his skull. 

Alec settles all but gracefully onto a chair, a groan escaping his lips as he knocks back a gulp of coffee. His eyes widen slightly, mulling the taste in his mouth. “Shit, this is good.” He turns the cup around to find the café logo, sees Brooklyn Roasting Company, and makes a mental note. Of course Magnus would have the most discerning palette for coffee too.

He looks up at the discharge board and sees the progression of Magnus’ discharge process. He’s had the required visits for occupational therapy and physiotherapy already, and both have check marks on the boxes next to them. His prescriptions remain unchecked, and at the bottom of it, the discharged box. Alec watches the board like he watches the clock, and little by little he feels a countdown start.

He feels like they’re both at the precipice of _something_, both standing on the cliff’s edge with the wind battering against their bodies, daring them to leap or not be there at all. He’s been there before, and the thundering in his chest told him _it’s just one step forward, take it_. Then, it has been lonely, a solitary plunge into waters unknown, and he surfaces cold and shivering. Today, there is another hand in his, shoulder bumping against shoulder, and it makes all the difference.

“Alec?” a voice gently pulls him back to reality, and it’s Greta, “Georgina’s awake if you want to see her.”

Alec nods, rising from his seat and placing his coffee onto the table. “Thanks, I’ll be right there.”

He walks the short walk to Georgina’s room, and she’s sitting on the side of the bed, hunched over her side table. There’s a cup of warm soup in a to-go container in front of her, and a coffee cup bearing the same logo as his. 

Alec approaches her slowly, heart aching at the tentative approach, that he can’t bring himself to talk to her the same way he’s been doing so the past few months. Feelings of insecurity rolls like waves from his chest—will she remember him? Will she remember the flying kisses she received from the staff every three AM in the morning? Will she even remember her own name today?

“Georgie?” Alec asks, and thankfully, she turns her head towards his direction. 

Her eyes soften in regret upon seeing him stand by the curtains, a painful amount of space placed across them. She sniffs, fingers on her trembling mouth, an apology brimming amongst the tears in her eyes. She shakes her head, speaking in a splintered voice, “I’m terribly sorry, Alec.” 

Alec, who cares too quickly, too intensely, too broadly, sits by her side and takes her into his arm. “It’s not your fault, Georgie.”

“My dearest, most favorite boy,” she says through withheld sobs, “And I forgot you.”

“But you didn’t.” Alec says under his breath, sniffing, “Dementia takes, and it’s despicable the way it does. But Georgie, you take what you can. Whatever it is that is there to take and keep. And then, try to live the most beautiful life you can ever live. That’s the one thing dementia can’t take away from you.”

Georgina wipes her eyes with the back of her hands, hands that has worked with metal parts for the most of her eighty or so years. It’s the weariest hands that deserve to be held the longest, Alec thinks. She smiles up at him in gratitude, and finally takes a big, cleansing breath.

“Also, even if you forgot me.” Alec says, smiling as he places both hands on his lap, “I wouldn’t forget you. You’re my favorite girl.”

Georgina laughs, looking at him pointedly. “Dearest, I’m the only girl you ever liked.”

Alec bursts into loud laughter, because _Jesus Christ, that hit my gay ass hard_. He laughs again, because Magnus has unwittingly forced him to only speak in sexual innuendos, exclusively. 

“You better watch yourself, dear,” Georgina says, returning to the cup of soup on her table, “Magnus is trying quite hard to get to your spot, and it’s working.”

Alec blinks, and whips to look up at the clock. _Shit_.

“I need to go.” He blurts, just bout jumping off the bed and onto his feet, “I’ll see you, Georgie!” he calls as he speeds past the door, and he hears a faint _go get him tiger_ as he makes his way hurriedly to the nursing desk.

He screeches to a stop in front of the discharge board and scans the name he’s looking for and sees in absolute panic that the prescription box has been ticked. Right below it, right next to _discharged_, a check mark is scribbled with the time for five minutes ago noted as well.

_Shit! _

Alec scrambles, walking as fast as he can past the nursing desk and turning into the hall, where he almost breaks into a run towards room 34. He bursts through the open door and throws the curtains open, only to thoroughly bamboozle one of their housekeeping staff. 

“Alec!” the man protests, clutching his chest, “Are you trying to make me a patient here?!”

“Sorry Dan,” Alec says quickly, “Where’s the patient who was here before?”

“Discharged?” Dan answers, confused.

“Which way did he go?”

Dan looks at him like he’s lost his damn mind. “I don’t know? I didn’t watch?”

_Fair enough_, Alec thinks, and he immediately backtracks through the door and into the hall, offering a hasty goodbye to his co-worker. Alec rounds to the back entrance, eyes sweeping thoroughly through doors, halls, rooms, _everywhere_, ears straining for the familiar sound of clacking. Alec doesn’t know if it’s his sleep-deprived delirium making him hallucinate, but he finally finds the familiar form standing by the elevators, watching as Ragnor steps into the elevator with much of his belongings.

Alec _runs_.

He sprints past the nursing desk, an alarmed _is there a code_ he leaves unanswered and trailing behind, and he doesn’t even think about it. All he could think about is Magnus standing there, about to go, and the smile in his eyes, and the words on his mouth, and the shift of muscle under the skin of his shoulders, and—

Alec catches Magnus’ arm with his one hand, drags him around the corner into the supply closet, pushes him against the wall, and finally _kisses him_. 

He feels Magnus smile around his lips, and he lets his weight settle onto the wall behind them. His crutches clatter on the floor noisily. 

Alec finally lays hands onto Magnus’ chest, journeying up the lines of his collar bone, trekking up the length of his neck where his palms press, cradling his head affectionately but urgently. Magnus opens up, mouth parting like biblical seas, letting tongues touch and breaths intermingle against each other as he tilts his head back, giving Alec as much as he can in this place, in this time. He encircles his arms around Alec’s waist, pulling him closer, more needily, more intimately, and they drink each other up in endless cycles like this event has been in the making for entire centuries. 

When they finally have their fill of each other, Alec half-heartedly pulls way, but lets everything else of themselves remain intermingled. He lets their lungs catch up, breaths heaved in and out through parted, swollen lips, and parts their touched foreheads only to look into Magnus’ eyes. 

Alec hammers his way through his walls that remain, laying them to absolute waste. 

“I really like you.” He breathes, “My heart throttles in my chest every time I see you. My lungs won’t expand when I don’t, like you’re what it needs to take a deep breath. It’s like having two failing organs that only work when you’re around, and it’s _infuriating_.” __

_ _Magnus smiles encouragingly, nodding, go on._ _

_ _“And I know that’s a lot. And it may be too much to take.” Alec mutters, “And I understand if this isn’t what you want.”_ _

_ _Alec gulps the thickness in his throat, in his eyes, a memory being harkened into the present. “I just wanted you to know.”_ _

_I just wanted you to know_. 

_ _ _ _Magnus looks at him _lovingly_, hand lifting to hold the line of Alec’s jaw, and brings him close for another kiss, soft this time, like a small promise. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“I told you before, and I’ll say it again.” Magnus almost whispers, “Whatever’s out there, Alexander, couldn’t compare to you.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“I’ll take your throttling heart and failing lungs.” He says softly, “I’ll take anything and everything you can give me. I’m happy to have it all.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Alec smiles, and Magnus smiles, and the smiles reach all the way down to their chests, warm and tender. Magnus raises his hand from Alec’s jaw, sweeps and actually sweeps his fingers through his hair. Alec doesn’t think he can smile wider than he already is but some how he finds a way. He takes Magnus’ hand and holds and _actually_ holds it against his cheek._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“I have to go.” Magnus laughs, scratching fondly at the cheek Alec has pressed into his hand, “Ragnor’s waiting with the car downstairs.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“I kind of don’t want you to.” Alec murmurs, “Work will be so much sadder without you.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Magnus presses another kiss onto his lips, and chases shamelessly for another when Alec teasingly pulls away. “You get to have me every second of your life outside it.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Alec grins. “Every way I want?”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Magnus grins back. “Every way you want.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _One last kiss, Alec tells himself and as if Magnus knows his thoughts, he ascends when Alec descends, meeting in a slow and languid temporary goodbye. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Alec finally wills himself to pull away. When he does, his eyes light up in remembrance._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Points?”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Magnus laughs, eyes loving against his. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Points.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _They step out of the supply closet to an empty hall, thankfully, and Alec walks Magnus to the elevator._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“He’ll have your head, won’t he?” Alec asks as they watch the floor number rising from one, two, three, and finally with a ding, to four. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“He will be pissed,” Magnus answers with a satisfied smile, “But I can handle a tirade from Ragnor Fell.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _The elevator doors finally slide open, and Magnus steps inside. He turns to face Alec._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“See you later, love.” Magnus says, unbothered to hide his loving smile. He gives him a flying kiss, and they both laugh at the sheer fluffiness of it all._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Alec shakes his head, still laughing. “See you later.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _He returns his flying kiss with as much gusto as he can, if only for this one time. _ _ _ _

The elevator door closes, and when Alec turns to walk away, he sees Georgina standing from a distance, grinning from ear to ear. She raises a finger and points it at him, _the best flying kiss. _

__

__

_ _ _ _Alec laughs, raising his hands in victory._ _ _ _

_What a damn day this is._

_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _When Alec arrives at Magnus’ door, it’s not room 34 anymore, but the door to his loft in the heart of Brooklyn._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _He gives pause._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _He thinks about the last seven or so days they’ve spent together, and looks onwards, to a path with unknown terrain. He’s not naïve. Whatever they have within the walls of that unit could very well be lost now that they’ve been set free into vastness of the real world. The fear curls deep within Alec’s stomach again, a constant reminder that whatever waste he’s lain on the walls he’s erected, there will always be remnants of a foundation built. He needs to be acquainted with the fact that as much as Magnus has solidified his fissures in gold, he may not be enough to rip his insecurities down completely. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _But the difference is today, Alec wants to try._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _He wants to try hard for himself, and he wants to try hard for Magnus._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _He stands at the precipice, at the cliff’s edge, wind pounding a rhythm against his back. _ _ _ _

He knocks on the door, and the sight of Magnus greets him like the sunlight that passes through the windows of his living room, bright and temperate. 

_ _ _ _“Hi.” He almost whispers, smile warm, eyes loving._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Alec can’t help but whisper back, affection blanketing the singular word. “Hi.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Alec leaps, full of faith._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for the lovely comments for the previous chapter! I truly do appreciate it! I can't but also cannot believe were down to the last chapter. I've thoroughly enjoyed writing this story, and I'm sure it's going to sting parting with it. But those feelings are Chapter 4 feelings. We'll defer those for later. Thanks again!


	4. Taking it slow is hard, but not as hard as my dick.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is everything you've been waiting for. Please note that the R rating applies, officially, to this chapter. Also, I've decided to extend this fic by another chapter in order to round out the plot appropriately. So, save your goodbyes! We're not quite done yet.
> 
> *You will see a ► symbol before the second to the last section of this chapter. This is a link to a song I've used to write out the scene, and if you want to fully experience it, I would listen to it on loop until the end of the chapter. I couldn't find a 1 hour loop of it, so if you have iTunes or Spotify, search "November 1, 1832" by Balmorrhea and loop it. That instrumental was really pivotal to the writing of that scene, so if you can, definitely have it in the background.

Magnus breathes, shifts, closes, and opens his eyes.

He doesn’t dare stifle the soft smile that permeates thoroughly on his lips the moment he catches the sight before him.

Alec sleeps right across him, wrapped in a soft pair of Magnus’ sweats, curled forward in a loose ball. His breaths lift the slope of his shoulders softly, air passing through parted lips. A mop of dark brown hair is splayed against the fabric of Magnus’ favorite pillow, the same way long eyelashes are splayed across cheekbones. Magnus’ eyes brush the tendrils of hair from Alec’s forehead, then take the straightforward road down the line of Alec’s nose. They settle on the pink of Alec’s lips, where it stays and makes it its home.

He could stay there forever.

When Magnus sees Alec standing at the other side of his door earlier in the afternoon, he releases the gentlest hi he has ever let slip from his own mouth, only to be rewarded by the same. They laugh, the same way they do behind elevator doors, basking in the unsureness of it all. Magnus anchors his hand within Alec’s, and tugs him in completely.

_How are you feeling? _ Magnus remembers asking, knowing the tiredness that lies behind the happy eyes that looks back at him, _You’ve been awake for sixteen hours. _

Alec laughs, exhausted. _I need a shower. _

_I can make that happen, _ Magnus replies kindly, _and before you ask, no, I won’t be joining you, he grins, that won’t be very first date-y of me. _

_Oh, is this what this is? _ Alec asks, grinning back as they walk past the living room and into Magnus’ bedroom, _I should have dressed better. _

Magnus smiles fondly, maneuvering his crutches to face his dresser where he manages to pull a towel and the largest pair of sweats he owns. _Oh, Alexander, you know I prefer you dressed down. _

A very real, punch-in-the-gut neediness crumples his Alec’s face, and Magnus can’t help but giggle. He tosses the towel and the clothes towards his direction. _Go_, and he says the next words like a reassurance, _I’m not going anywhere. _

Whatever remaining reservations Alec is holding melts, and all that remains is the soft _okay_ that he says. He closes the door behind him and the sound of the shower spraying against tile is the only music that fills Magnus’ space.

Magnus comes back to his bedroom after peeking into his fridge for what could be a potential meal for his overworked nurse, and when he does, Alec is already snuggled beneath his sheets, trying hard to fight off sleep. It’s unabashedly adorable, Magnus thinks, how the entire length of Alec’s body tries to curl into a ball, and it’s ridiculous how fast his heart beats at the sight of it. Alec hears him approach, barely able to lift his hooded head, and reaches out for him with a look on his face that pretty much says _why are you still standing there? _

Magnus melts, and _jesus christ_ he’s helpless, before walking where Alec is and slipping underneath the covers. It isn’t by any means as graceful as he would have wanted, his cast dragging laboriously across the bed. But everything is shushed into silence when Alec reaches for him and enfolds his arms around him like there’s nothing in the universe he’d rather have.

They fit, lock and key, like rock formations that has been slotted together for thousands of years, chest to chest, lungs to lungs. Magnus wonders how he’s survived without all _this_. The soft weight of Alec’s chin on the top of his head. The affectionate hands pressing against his back. The tangle of legs against cotton sheets. It’s something Magnus wishes he’s known all of his life.

_I don’t think I can do much than this for now_, he hears a murmur, and Magnus feels Alec’s heart pick up under his ribs. Magnus knows of the lines Alec draws on the sand, has bore witness to more than a couple, something that he does to protect himself for reasons Magnus hasn’t been made privy to yet. But this one is different. If anything, it is vulnerable, like ribs cracked open, fragile flowers instead of a beating heart. An admission. An open invitation for Magnus to know.

Magnus realizes what it means at surface level.

_We’re not going to do anything you’re not ready for. _ Magnus says, between softly and firmly, two opposing feelings tugging at each other, because these words he wants Alec to hear as clearly as he can receive them.

The shift in the way Alec holds him the slightest bit closer translates the _thank you_ he means to say. He pulls back after a few beats, and Magnus tilts his gaze up. 

_I can do this though_, Alec murmurs, sleep addled but smiling, and he descends onto Magnus’ lips. Magnus greets him back, open-mouthed and welcoming. 

It’s unlike the first they’ve shared in that supply room, urgent and needy with seven days of smirks and smiles and touches and words all pent up in a single moment. This one is slow and languid, gently probing, toeing sand lines until they’ve blurred completely. Pads of fingers intertwined into hair. Breaths fanning across cheeks. Softly glorious. 

Magnus is wrenched from the hours-old memory by a stifled sound, the softest snore. Alec’s brow furrows unconsciously in his sleep, hands twitching under the covers, searching. 

At the sight of this, Magnus is snow under a temperate sun.

He slips back into the cradle of Alec’s arm, shushing as he does, and the presence of him within it soothes Alec back into a comfortable sleep.

Magnus breathes.

_I’m not going anywhere. _

When Alec wakes up, the sun that throws warm light through the windows sits on the horizon. 

It doesn’t give him a lot of context as to whether he’s slept six hours or sixteen. He looks around for a clock and finds the hands pointing to seven twenty in the evening. He blearily props himself up onto his elbows, blinking as he does, and notices the clear lack of Magnus beside him. Traces of him is left in the creases of the sheets and the strewn, indented pillow on the other side of the bed. 

After a hefty stretch that he feels through the entire plane of his back, Alec gets out of bed and pads into the bathroom for a quick wash and a brush of the teeth. He congratulates himself for keeping a toothbrush in his work bag. When he steps out, he finds himself magnetized towards the walls of Magnus’ room. Several shelves line the entirety of it, filled with evidence of a life lived fully. Framed pictures are propped sporadically along each shelf, and Alec recognizes Catarina, Madzie, and Ragnor along with faces of strangers Alec has yet to know. A stack of programs sits at the far end, most from the New York Ballet Company, and at the top is the same program Alec sees in room 34 that one night. Small trinkets stand along the edge of the shelf: ornate buttons from what it looks like old costumes, souvenirs from past travels, and the most notable is a pair of small, battered pointe shoes that hasn’t seen the light of day for a long time. Alec notes the inscription on the inside of the shoe—_Catarina L_. Magnus’ first pointe shoes, Alec remembers, and it’s like peeking back into a closely held memory.

Alec regards it quietly, not knowing whether to smile or frown. He can’t help but think of a younger Magnus standing in that dance studio in Alabama, in a room full of people telling him that he can’t dance the way he wants to dance. He thinks of the how awful little kids are to other little kids sometimes, and sees an image in his mind of Magnus steeling himself against jeering boys and giggling girls. How long has Magnus been fighting this fight, Alec wonders? How long has the battle dragged on, how strong are the enemies, how many of them remain? How many scars disrupt the planes of his skin? How tired is the heart of a soldier who fights a lifelong war?

Magnus peeks past his bedroom door, and it catches Alec’s attention instantaneously.

“Morning.” Magnus teases, their backdrop a setting sun. 

Alec wonders who he got that night shift joke from, and immediately thinks _Clary_. He laughs. “Morning.”

Magnus looks at him like there’s something he clearly wants to say, and the press of the lips and the pinched eye corners are all indicative of a grin being wrangled into submission.

“What?” Alec asks, humoured.

Magnus hovers his fingers over the bow of his lips, trying not to laugh. “I just realized how small my sweats are on you.”

Alec looks down at the comfortable pants and finally realizes how it stops mid-calf, and it makes him release a laugh that bounces happily onto the walls. “This is how I looked like and you still cuddled with me.”

“What can I say,” Magnus grins, “I’m smitten.”

Alec thinks, _not as much as I am_, but not everything needs to be a competition.

“Come out, I’ve cooked breakfast.” 

Magnus walks towards the living room couch with Alec following in mild shock, and sees supper steaming in two plates, sitting on the decorative coffee table across it.

“You cooked all this?” Alec asks in wonder as he settles onto the leather cushion, the smell of freshly cooked pasta wafting in the air. 

“Why such surprise?” Magnus asks playfully as he takes a seat next to him.

“I meant,” Alec says through a laugh, “You didn’t have to. You should be resting; you just got discharged.”

“It’s true, what they say,” Magnus grins, twirling his pasta into his fork, “You can take a nurse out of the hospital, but you can’t take the hospital out of the nurse.”

Alec snorts. “Nobody says that.”

“Darling, I just did.” 

Alec shrugs, feigning nonchalance, but feeling the grin break past his lips. “That’s what you get for dating my kind.” 

He takes a fork-full of food into his mouth and when he chews, the same gut-punched look crumples his face. He makes a strangled groan in his throat. 

“_Jesus Christ, Magnus, that’s good. _”

Magnus chokes on piece of pasta, perhaps, because his face flushes beet red, and the cough that ensues is loud and chaotic. Alec hasn’t seen Magnus this flustered before, and it erupts sunlight where his heart sits.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Alec laughs as he reaches forward, and Magnus ducks sideways, a finger in the air—_give me a minute_—and proceeds to cough out a lung.

When Magnus resurfaces, the redness in his face subsides slightly, and Alec watches in amusement as he tries to regain his bearings.

“I know we’re taking things slow, so please don’t judge me,” Magnus breathes, a pained look smeared across his face, “But what you said quite literally shot straight down my pants.”

Alec groans, taking one of the throw pillows from the couch and places it strategically on his front. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m just being honest, and truth, Alexander, is the corner stone of all healthy relationships.” Magnus pauses, “And if I have to suffer, you suffer with me.”

Alec softly butts the side of his head on the back of the couch, pained. “Shit. Taking it slow is hard.” He widens his eyes at Magnus, a laugh threatening to break. “Don’t.”

Magnus looks at him with fake innocence. “What?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Alec warns, but when Magnus grins a feral grin, and he knows he’s lost.

“Dare to _what_?” he says slyly, “Say ‘taking it slow is hard, but—”

Alec takes the pillow he stole for his crotch and hurls it at Magnus, which he dodges with the grace only a ballet dancer has— “But not as hard as my—”

“Dick!” Alec yells and laughs at the same time as he launches forward and tries plant a hand over Magnus’ dirty mouth, only to be dodged again expertly.

“Yes, exactly that.” Magnus snickers, and finds a spot on Alec’s side to land his fingers on.

Alec _howls_, curling into defensive ball, trying to swat away the oncoming attack, and they both dissolve into a fit of laughter that renders their supper forgotten. They both collapse on the couch, Magnus tucked into Alec’s side, an arm affectionately curled around his shoulder. They breathe out the last of their laughs.

“Shit.” Alec sighs, says the word because it bears repeating, “I like you so much.”

Magnus smiles into Alec’s shoulder. “Likewise, love.” He softly scratches the nearest cheek he could find, and Alec remembers the first time he does—in that supply closet, under the shadow of steel shelves. “But we’re not doing anything you’re not ready for.”

“I don’t know the reasons why,” Magnus says gently, “But I know there’s something. And when you’re ready, you tell me.”

Alec softens. “Okay.”

“Let’s start with something easy.” Magnus says, shifting in his spot in the couch, “What’s your favorite season?”

Alec runs circles around Magnus’ shoulder, smiling. “Winter. Because of Christmas. Yours?”

“Autumn.” Magnus answers, “Because of Halloween.”

They lay there, answering questions back and forth, sometimes only skimming the surface—like the best song they’ve ever listened to. Sometimes they dig deep enough to unearth the buried stem of a feeling, but not quite deep enough to find the roots—like what their greatest regrets are. Alec says it’s letting himself be lost for a long time. Magnus says it’s letting himself use love as rose-colored glasses. He takes it one step further, allows Alec a wider peek into his Pandora’s box, as if telling him _I trust you, and in time I hope you trust me too_. 

He gives Alec a name. _Camille_.

Magnus steels himself, braces for impact, for the arm around him to loosen after the admission of his sexual orientation. Maybe this isn’t what Alec has signed up for. Maybe this is something he’ll draw a line on the sand for, even after they’ve completely toed all the previous ones clean. But Alec only holds him closer, as if he’d rather their bones melt together, and nothing between them changes. Magnus doesn’t show it, but relief floods his veins like oxygenated blood. 

It’s three weeks after, while they’re watching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy despite Alec’s groaning protests, that Alec looks at him like something has shifted. 

“Jace.” He says softly, giving Magnus a name. 

Magnus turns off the television and turns to him completely, ardently listening.

After all of it, Alec is breathless, like his heart has run a marathon, and Magnus takes him in his arms, painfully loving. 

Alec wants to say the words, three of them, but holds it behind his teeth.

Maybe next time. 

Before Alec gives Magnus a name, and the three words almost spills out of his mouth, three weeks worth of memories fills their shared existence. 

One of them is Alec’s first visit to New York City Ballet, in tow of a slowly healing Magnus. Now that he’s incrementally healing his fractured tibia, he’s been continuously working with his ballet rehabilitation coach from the company, tailoring a training regimen that conditions the rest of his body but spares his slowly repairing bone. 

Alec stares at Magnus wide eyed when he mentions the presence of a healthcare suite in their company. “Seriously?”

Magnus looks back at him one morning on Alec’s one out of three days off, sitting on a mat on the floor, legs relaxed before him, but upper body in different states of stretch. “Yes, love.”

“A whole team?”

Magnus laughs, rolling his shoulders back. “A seventeen-piece team of health care professionals and sports science experts.”

“Wow.” Alec says, impressed, “That’s amazing. That’s almost as much staff as a football team would have in their clinical department.”

Alec walks around Magnus to stand behind him and places his hands flat against the middle of his back. When Magnus leans forward to gently reach his toes, Alec pushes him forward, keeping him in the stretch for as long as Magnus needs. Magnus is careful to keep the stretch along his hamstrings and nowhere in his calves. It’s been a while since Alec has taken the task of assisting Magnus in as much of his training regimen as he can. It all starts with him helplessly looking like a salivating dog at the sight of Magnus dipping into elaborate stretches, and when Magnus teasingly quips _why don’t you come here and help me_, Alec jumps at the offer with much more gusto than he plans to express.

Soon enough, Alec has memorized the continuity of Magnus’ morning stretches. He does most of it on the floor with his legs brought forward due to his cast, but he starts from head down to his toe of his good leg. He starts with stretching out the muscles in his neck, rolling his head in small circles. He bounces his head a couple of times left, right, back, and front, easing out more of the tension of that night’s sleep out of his trapezius. The shoulders come next, rolling forward for ten counts and rolling back. Then the arms are pressed against his chest one at a time, drawing and loosening out the biceps. The torso comes next, and this is where Magnus usually needs assistance with keeping his stretch in place. He reaches out an arm to the opposite side, pulling at his obliques and serratus, and brings himself forward to lay his torso onto his thighs, gently waking up his trapezius and latissimus. 

This is where Alec gives pause and watches the lines that notch the plane of Magnus’ back, studies them intently, like he’s back in nursing school with an anatomy textbook opened before him. The slightest shift of muscle catches his eye and more often than not, catches his breath, and many times he is so lost at the sight of it all that Magnus has to call to him affectionately,_ darling, let me up_, to snap him back to reality. The stretch continues on to his upper and lower legs, until it reaches what Magnus calls the bread and butter of a ballet dancer’s career: their feet.

It’s still unbelievable how much time is allocated in conditioning Magnus’ feet: two hours a day, everyday, no matter what. It starts with activating the intrinsic muscles of his foot, and Magnus can rattle all of these off like he’s mastered an anatomical diagram: _flexor hallucis brevis, flexor digiti minimi brevis, adductor hallucis oblique, adductor hallucis transverse_. Everyday Magnus flexes each small musculature one by one, rotating between all four over and over again. Alec watches intently at the immense concentration on Magnus’ face as he does this exercise, and because of the deep nature of these muscles within the bulk of the foot, it only physically appears as a small shift on the surface. Everything in ballet is as such. The easier it looks like at surface level, the harder it is deeper down. 

“Come with me to my next appointment.” Magnus says as he takes the hand Alec offers him and elegantly ascends onto his good foot, his cast hovering in the air like it didn’t exist at all. Alec feels an _oh god_ rumble in the pit of his stomach. 

“Am I even allowed there?” Alec asks, ignoring the swoop in his gut, and hands Magnus his crutches.

“Of course.” Magnus smiles cheekily, “I think it’s time you meet my friends.”

They go the next day, and the forty-minute commute to David H. Koch Theatre is painful even at ten o’clock in the morning. Alec is sure they’ve missed the morning rush hour, but with a city as busy as New York and being in a subway line that is plowing into the heart of it, there never is not a rush of some sort somewhere. Somebody attempts to give Magnus her seat which he politely refuses. They somehow maneuver through the thick throng of people in the middle and slip to the other side. Magnus leans his back against the railing erected at the end of the filled bench, and Alec brackets an arm to Magnus’ side, holding onto the metal bars behind him. 

Magnus smiles playfully up at him, and Alec looks back curiously. “What?”

“I was going to say I would rather pay a small fortune to taxi into the city than do this again, but somehow, you’ve made it quite romantic.”

Alec snickers, giving Magnus shoe a small kick. “Yeah, a hundred people crammed into a sardine can is romantic.”

“Well, I didn’t say it’s perfect.”

“Why don’t you live closer?” Alec asks, “I can’t imagine having a full day of dancing and still having to make this commute after.” 

“I love Brooklyn.” Magnus answers, smiling slightly, “New York City feels like an office, and there I constantly feel like I’m running a marathon. In Brooklyn, I can actually breathe.”

Alec leans his chin against his arm, listening intently. 

“Have you ever heard of The Little Sweet Cafe?” Magnus asks, and Alec nods vaguely.

“By Hoyt?” he says, a flash of remembrance in his eyes, “Small, kind of cozy?”

“Yes.” Magnus smiles wistfully, “When I first moved to New York, I lived around that area. It was a trying time. I didn’t have any prospects, haven’t gone to any companies to audition, and I knew nobody. All I knew was another second in Alabama was going to choke me to death, and that I had to escape.”

“What about Catarina?” Alec murmurs, “Didn’t you follow her here?”

The train slows down to a stop, and the momentum of it throws them forward slightly. Alec plants a gentle hand on Magnus’ chest, keeping him in place, and Magnus catches the wrist that is planted by his side out of reflex. They’re snapped back into position when they fully stop, and they let go of each other, like it’s the most natural thing to happen.

“She had a lot on her plate.” Magnus continues, “She lived in Manhattan in a small, single room apartment with Madzie and her mother that time, not to mention she was still a member of the corps de ballet. She was struggling to juggle single motherhood with working at the lowest rung of the ballet ladder. I couldn’t bear burdening her with more.”

“I rented a bedroom in a shared house,” Magnus cringes, face crumpling dramatically, “Alexander, a house with eight people.”

Alec winces. “Oh, god.”

“It was truly mortifying.” Magnus groans, pained, “In between trying to find a job and trying to book auditions, in the small pockets of time I had to myself, I couldn’t bring myself to go back to a house that looked and reeked like a football team dormed in it.”

They arrive at 14 Street Station, and a throng of commuters alight, leaving more space for movement. Magnus leans his temple against the arm Alec has to his side.

“I spent most of my time in that small cafe.” Magnus says, a fond memory flashing in his mind’s eye, “I even took a barista job there until I can find a something even remotely related to ballet.” He laughs, “I would’ve taken a housekeeping position if it means hearing the lovely sound of bourrées against wooden flooring.”

Magnus breathes, and Alec could see it lift his shoulders. “It was like that for a long time. Just—_difficult_. That haziness along the horizon, not knowing what awaits you, brings you to dark places in your mind. And with my history—I felt like sunlight was never going to break through.”

Alec is thrown back to their conversation in room 34, back when their distances span meters and not feet—_just talk to me, Magnus_—and remembers the earthquake that trembles his words.

“One day, it did.” Alec could almost feel the warmth softly dispensed by the memory Magnus shares, “A smartly dressed resident choreographer comes through the door and ordered the most pretentious drink one could ever order.” He laughs, “Even just by the flick of my wrist, and how my fingers moved about in a gesture, Ragnor knew. He gave me his card, and a date and time for an audition.”

Magnus adjusts his head against Alec’s wrist. He gazes at him warmly. “I could say I haven’t looked back ever since, but that would be a lie. All I’ve been doing is looking back at Brooklyn and thinking about how much it changed my life.”

Alec lifts his head and looks at Magnus like he’s witnessed a miracle before his very eyes.

“How do you do that?” Alec smiles teasingly, echoes words that has been shared between them before, harkening a memory that seems so far away but is only a few weeks old, “Say stuff, and make them sound like the most flowery things in the world?”

Magnus grins. “I don’t know. I must _really_ enjoy the company.”

They make plans to drop by The Little Sweet Café at the end of the day.

Alec has always thought that Magnus is well liked. 

Its hard not to make the assumption. Magnus makes a striking first impression to anyone he meets, and there’s something about him that keeps strangers enchanted enough to want more familiarity with him. Magnus is wise beyond his years, carries a kind, open heart, and has a wicked sense of humour. And as if everything else isn’t enough, he’s also unabashedly beautiful. He’s very hard _not_ to like, and Alec can speak by solid experience. 

But as both of them cross the threshold of New York City Ballet, Alec realizes what a disgrace it would be to use the words ‘well liked’. It simply doesn’t hold the same breadth. Magnus is utterly beloved.

The moment they arrive, Magnus is acknowledged by every single person they come across, either with small, friendly waves, or by completely halting their business of the moment to exchange pleasantries. Magnus greets every single person with warm eyes and well-remembered names, offering gracious _thank you_’s in return of the many _I’m glad your back_’s. One lady by the name of Mary Beth wraps him in an affectionate embrace, and by the way Magnus returns it just as tightly, they share a relationship that exceeds mere job affiliation. Alec is introduced to every single person who stays within their conversation long enough, or is curious enough to ask. 

“Alec, this is Bonnie.” Magnus turns to him, smiling, as he introduces a girl who waves back somewhat shyly, “She’s one of the newer members of the ballet de corps for this year. One of the most promising dancers we’ve acquired during the last intake.”

“Magnus is just being too kind with his compliments.” Bonnie says with a reserved smile, “I’m okay.”

Magnus presses, “More than okay. I was there when you auditioned. Please, don’t sell yourself short.” He places a hand on Alec’s shoulder. “Bonnie, this is Alec, my boyfriend.”

Alec’s heart flutters madly on its own accord hearing those words, and he fights tooth and nail not to look it. He takes the hand Bonnie extends his direction and shakes it warmly. After a few more friendly back and forths, Bonnie excuses herself and lets them continue on their way. More people stop them as they venture deeper into the building, and Magnus actually excuses himself early into a handful of conversations in order to keep his appointment with his rehabilitation coach. 

“Do you know everybody here?” Alec asks incredulously when they finally get a moment to themselves.

Magnus shakes his head, a cheery smile on his lips that could only be brought about by being in the place he loves the most. “No, but I try as best as I can.” 

He leads them both to an empty hallway, and soon enough the health care suite appears to their left, glass-paned on two of the four walls that surround it. Alec holds the door open for Magnus, and he gets a soft touch of gratitude on his wrist as the other walks past in tandem with his crutches. Behind the desk is a man typing away at a computer, and his gaze lifts when he hears the door soundly swing open. 

“Well, about time.” He smirks, but speaks with a tone that is affectionately fond, “I was beginning to think you were actually enjoying being off work.”

Magnus smiles cheekily at the man before looking back at Alec, who decides to stay a few steps back. “Hard not to with such lovely company.”

Today must be a day of wildly blushing against his will, Alec thinks, before reaching out a hand, “I’m Alec.”

The man stands up from his desk, rounds the corner to meet them, and takes the offered handshake. “Raphael.” He says, his voice a deep timbre, “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Finally?” Alec blurts, and Magnus can’t help but wince in embarrassment at the revelation.

Magnus decides to take the situation in his own hands before it goes awry. “I talk about you.” He says, and if one really strains his ear, he could hear sheepishness behind the attempts at confidence, “Quite a bit.” He adds.

Raphael scoffs teasingly. “Quite a bit is an understatement.”

“Shush now.” Magnus laughs out his warning, but there is a semblance of panic in his tone. 

Alec’s mouth starts forming a grin and he presses, “About what?”

“Many things, for a long time now.” Raphael is now grinning, relishing the glory of witnessing Magnus’ eyes widening at him as if to say _shut your mouth_, “As a point of reference, I’ve had to listen to his fentanyl-ridden musings of a—what was it, my friend?”

Magnus purses his lips at Raphael, irate as all hell, and looks at Alec, who is grinning ear to ear at the secrets being divulged at his behest. Alec’s excitement must be a potent disabler, because he could see Magnus soften at the sight, and tosses him a look that is equivalent to hands raised in surrender. 

He sighs. “Of a nurse I’d climb like an oak tree if permitted.”

Alec tries really hard not to laugh, fights the gust of air that tries to push through his mouth, but his efforts are rendered useless. He hides behind a hand, entire body crumpling sideways and away, and the only view Magnus and Raphael could see is the slight shake of his shoulders.

“I endure a lot to be Magnus’ friend, as you can see.” Raphael laughs openly, all traces of a smirk washed away.

Magnus rolls his eyes, but with no real heat behind it. “Oh, I endure a lot more being yours, Raphael. Don’t forget the number of times I’ve nursed your many broken hearts.”

Raphael squints at him. “And I’ve nursed your many foot deformities, so I say we’re even.”

“As much as I enjoy being thoroughly exposed to my boyfriend, can we get to business? I do believe I’m here for an appointment.” Magnus says with a laugh, and peers over Alec’s shoulder and settles his chin on it. “Earth to Alexander. Come back, Alexander.”

“Yeah, I’m here.” Alec breathes, wiping tears from his eyes.

Magnus grins. “Are you going to be oak-kay?”

Raphael mutters a _dios mio_ under his breath before ushering two laughing fools into the testing area. 

Raphael stands at a distance, watching as Magnus leads Alec into the open space of the main rehearsal studio. 

Alec looks up with wonder at the tall ceilings accentuated with fluorescent lighting and runs his fingers against the curved surface of the first barre within reach. He offhandedly says something to Magnus, and like a moth to a flame, Magnus circles closer into Alec’s space, warm and smiling. 

“Sickening, isn’t it?” A voice beside him says, and Raphael doesn’t need to turn to know it’s Ragnor who has followed them into the room. 

“Agreed.” Raphael answers, and they both stand there, Raphael with his hands sitting inside his pockets, and Ragnor with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Haven’t seen him this happy in a while.” Raphael continues.

Ragnor purses his lips. 

“Agreed.”

Magnus’ gaze falls from Alec to the both of them standing by the door, and he warmly waves for them to come over. Ragnor sighs like it’s the biggest chore that needs to be done, and Raphael steels himself for more painfully sweet moments they’re both going to have to endure, but nonetheless, they walk towards Alec and Magnus. They don’t say anything and would vehemently deny it when confronted about it, but they can’t keep down the small smiles that quirk the corners of their lips. 

Raphael and Ragnor makes a meal of lecturing the lovebirds about keeping the public displays of affection at the minimum, and the ruby flush that fills Alec’s cheeks is enough of a reward.

Magnus doesn’t let go of Alec’s hand just to spite them both.

There are times Alec arrives in Magnus’ apartment after work, and if he’s sneaky enough, he’d catch him by surprise.

Alec doesn’t know why they’ve fallen into this odd rhythm, but he thinks it’s because he likes seeing Magnus in his solitary moments. Little snapshots of a life lived, how he moves across the floor, how he murmurs to himself, how he drapes himself over the couch on a particularly dreary day.

Sometimes Alec would catch Magnus mid-morning stretch, just when he’s come home from a night shift. If he’s lucky enough, he’ll catch him doing his modified barre exercises. Those are one of Alec’s absolute favorites. Magnus is the most himself with his arms exquisitely held aloft in the air, neck long, leg postured. Sometimes he’d have his ballet flats on his good foot, sometimes he’d have a pointe shoe. When he does have the latter, Alec would watch more intently from the door, shoulder leaned on a wall, eyes glinting with wonder. When Magnus goes on pointe, Alec couldn’t look away. He remembers as much as he can of his anatomy and physiology lectures in nursing school, and he couldn’t believe how much strength and resilience that one foot has in order to support the entirety of an almost two hundred-pound body. 

And then Alec would walk in as soundlessly as he could, as close as he could, and muster the loudest yell he could ever produce. The first time he does it, Magnus _wails_ while in mid-turn, losing his balance completely and toppling over Alec who yelps at being dragged onto the floor by his pants.

_Alexander Gideon Fucking LIGHTWOOD! _ Alec remembers Magnus yelling, kicking at the first body surface he could reach, _Am I dating a child?! _

_It’s me who’s dating a child! _ Alec wheezes through a laugh, _You almost pantsed me!_

Magnus pauses, looks over, sees a fully clothed back side, and lays back down. _Almost being the key word. _

Alec settles to a grin, _You almost sound disappointed. _

Magnus rolls his eyes, still spread-eagled on the floor. _You almost gave me a coronary, darling, the least you could do is show me a good view. _

One day, however, Alec doesn’t arrive to a Magnus flitting around the apartment, or working on the barre. He peeks into the bedroom after a few minutes of checking the living room and kitchen, only to find Magnus sitting on the edge of the mattress. He has a New York City Ballet pamphlet in his hands, similar to the one from a few weeks ago that Alec finds in room 34, but instead of Magnus’ glorious pirouette a la seconde on the cover, it’s someone else. Magnus lifts his eyes to Alec who’s already halfway across the room, and brings it back down again when Alec settles onto a knee. He gently takes one edge of the pamphlet and angles it slightly towards his direction. He looks at it and sees Magnus’ thumb unconsciously brushing itself against the page over and over again, betraying the unrest in his chest.

_Xian will do wonderfully_. Magnus says, but it’s under his breath, crumpled. 

_He will_, Alec murmurs, _but you’re allowed to be sad about it too. _

Magnus nods slightly, eyes still lost. 

Alec sits with him until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Oh god, this is it.” Alec grits, “The dumbest thing in history. Are you watching? Make sure you are.”

Magnus nods supportively, careful not to make any noise of dissent. “Yes, darling.”

Alec curls into a smaller ball on the couch and snuggles deeper into the comforter they’ve peeled from the bed, his head on Magnus’ lap. Magnus has his pink, bejewelled cast kicked up onto the coffee table, and his fingers languidly play at the head of hair available to him. A particular episode of Grey’s Anatomy is unfolding on the television screen.

Magnus has learned this quite recently, but there are specific intricacies in dating a nurse. 

The need to see a doctor drops down to about fifty percent, and the need to go to the hospital drops to almost non-existent. If you’re not at the brink of death, there is no chance of you even looking at the general direction of an emergency room. Every single ailment and injury could be patched up with the small hill of medical supplies that Alec accidentally comes home with every shift—pens, whole bundle of alcohol swabs, normal saline flushes, bandages. Magnus ends up dedicating a drawer to his growing collection, along with some of Alec’s freshly laundered scrubs that he’s been keeping in his work bag in case he decides to stay over. Magnus also learns that a full time, twelve-hour position makes for a grumpy bed fellow. Alec is a bundle of irate nerves the moment he arrives at Magnus’ apartment, goes to bed as such, and is only open to socialization by the time morning caffeine hits his veins. The worse could very well be transitioning from a night shift to a day shift, and this is where the ultimate coddling is needed. One time, Magnus bears witness to an Alec who actually hisses at the sight of sunlight, and it takes one warm shower, two steaming plates of Greek cuisine, and a good hour of cuddling and making out to snap him out of his funk. 

However, the biggest minefield that one needs to maneuver through is what Magnus secretly calls _nurse pride_. Nursing breeds the most intensely caring professionals and releases them into the world, with high expectations of the kind of patient care they will provide. These new nurses, Alec shares glumly one night, are disillusioned very quickly, very roughly. The hospital management shreds their patience and compassion apart with heavy workloads, unmanageable schedules, and unreasonable expectations. Patients, sometimes, don’t help either. Private healthcare makes for some over-privileged individuals, and Alec has had to bluntly explain to a handful of people that nurses don’t spend five gruelling years of medical training to be treated like glorified maids. The ones that makes it through the first few years of hell break their backs advocating and supporting patients, and they value the hard work that they do, for good reason. So, when a crop of medical dramas starts depicting the specific care only nurses ever do in real life onto doctors, they get defensive. Alec specifically, gets angry. For good reason. 

Alec watches in annoyance as three—_three, Magnus, THREE_—doctors ambulate a patient in the room and a short distance into the hall. 

“Have you ever seen even one doctor walk a patient down the hall, Magnus?” Alec seethes, jabbing a finger at the television like it’s said a blatant lie, “Or a doctor in a hall, for that matter?”

Magnus shakes his head and makes sure his expression clearly shows his disapproval. “No, not at all.”

Alec huffs, hands gesticulating in irritation as his eyes doesn’t leave the screen, “Also, that’s not how defibrillation works! You don’t shock on a flat line, you shock to cause a flat line—”

Alec continues to grumble at the episode before him, face crumpled with disdain, and Magnus just nods in understanding, humming in agreement as his fingers continue to draw circles onto Alec’s scalp. They spend some afternoons like this, venting about work and how unbelievably ridiculous it has been. The first few times they’ve brought work into their shared time together, there has been hiccups—many a times they’ve piped in slightly dissenting comments at each other, a different opinion, a suggestion meant to be helpful, and for most part it all ends up with fuming retorts and eyes rolled at each other. One time, Alec comes home with an entire shift’s worth of incredulous venting, and Magnus makes the wrong move of telling Alec that _patient ratios are worse in the Indonesia_. One time, Magnus just about throws his phone to a wall when he finds out he couldn’t start conditioning training for another week, and Alec shrugs it off with a _New York City Ballet isn’t going anywhere_. The ensuing arguments from both instances, and the painful few days of scathing remarks they regret as soon as it leaves their lips, leave them bruised and remorseful. It takes them a few days to get over themselves. Apologies come in different forms every time. One comes in the form of a back embrace as Alec comes home, finally, after days of sleeping in his own apartment. Another in five mid-work phone calls Magnus makes to Alec’s cellphone, only stopping until he gets his nurse’s tired voice on the other line. It has taken them a while, but they’ve come to an understanding. Sometimes, it’s not about responding, but listening. They do a better job ever since.

Magnus continues to watch the episode before him just to nurse the interest it has sparked. It’s more than halfway through the episode that he notices the absence of snarky commentary from below. He looks down and sees a slumbering Alec, shushed into a full sleep by the good work his wandering fingers have done. Soft breaths push and pulls through parted lips, and Alec has curled into himself as small as he possibly can, brow absent of any derision he’s had the past hour.

Magnus smiles gently, sweeping away the hair that has fallen over Alec’s eyes. He leans down and gives the corner of his eyes a soft kiss, the ones that crinkle into four small lines when a thorough laugh fills his face. 

Three words bang at his chest, wanting desperately to be let out, but Magnus keeps it in. _Christ, he thinks, it’s too soon to admit anything to anyone. _

He draws hearts on Alec’s hair instead.

Alec scrambles to get into his runners, and the backpack he has slung on one shoulder swings haphazardly as he dips down.

“Ah, shit,” he grits, finally dropping the bag on the floor to focus on his shoe laces. He looks up at the smiling Magnus that watches his struggle with mild amusement. “This is the last time I’m letting you drag me back to bed after my alarm goes off.”

Magnus looks back at him innocently. “How ever is that my fault?”

Alec narrows an eye towards his direction. “I know you like to play coy, but you don’t have to play dumb.” He picks at his scrub top and peeks into it, before pressing it back down again and doing a thorough check of himself at the mirror. 

“Counting how many?” Magnus teases, and Alec rolls his eyes.

“Checking if visible.” He shoots back, “God help me if a patient sees a hickey on their nurse. You need to keep your devil’s tactics to yourself on a workday.”

Magnus snickers, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “Darling, the devil works all seven days of the week.”

“Oh?” Alec feigns surprise, “I thought today’s your day off?”

Magnus looks at him, thoroughly impressed, a hand on the heart. “Touché, Alexander.”

Alec laughs, finally scooping his backpack by the strap and slinging it over both shoulders. “Up to anything today?”

Magnus grins happily, knocking onto the pink, bejewelled cast on his bad leg. “My lovely friend is finally coming off.”

“That’s today?”

A look of _something_ flashes across Alec’s face, almost undecipherable, a split-second exposure, before he has back on the smile he’s worn earlier. If it’s anybody else, it would have been inconsequential. But Magnus has known Alec for three weeks now, and though he’s not well-versed enough to analyze it completely, he knows when to spot an important gesture or a significant look. 

“Eleven in the morning.” Magnus answers, “Maybe I’ll drop by to see the gang?”

Alec nods, “Okay, yeah, that sounds great.” He rushes towards Magnus, careful to keep his work shoes within the foyer, and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you later?”

Magnus nods. “See you later, love.”

He thinks of that _something_ for the rest of the morning. 

Alec comes to work with no other than his sister sitting on one of the chairs, arms folded across her chest, like she’s been waiting for him to roll in for the past thirty minutes.

“Again?” Alec asks incredulously, “Is cardiac surgery really that low on patients?”

Izzy huffs, lips pursed in disdain. “I picked up.”

Alec raises a brow and squints an eye at the same time, a true talent only he possesses. “And you’re angry at me because..?”

Izzy’s eyes bug out, hands unfolding from under her elbows as she throws them in the air. “Because! It’s been three weeks! And I haven’t met Magnus yet!”

Alec blinks as the realization sinks into his brain. It’s been three weeks since him and Magnus has been together. Nearing a month. They’ve pretty much kept to themselves the entire time. Nobody from the family has actually met Magnus, nor has he introduced him officially as his boyfriend to anyone. They’ve been in a bubble this whole time and, in all honesty, as great as it has been, Alec painfully wonders if Magnus minds. He files the thought for later and turns to Izzy.

“How do you even know he’s going to be here later?” Alec demands, “I didn’t even know he’s coming here until today!”

“Clary had to tell me!” Izzy exclaims, and Alec turns to the aforementioned mop of red hair, who has tried to make herself as scarce as humanly possible in the corner of the nursing station.

“How do _you_ know?!”

Clary winces. “Me and Magnus text.” 

Alec’s world almost spins with all this new information. “_Since when? _”

“Since he left!” Clary says with her eye perpetually narrowed in a cringe, “What, did you think you’d be the only one bestowed his contact number?”

Alec is tempted to say _yes, of course_, but Izzy holds a hand up to cut through their escalating conversation. 

“Anyway! I don’t care about all that.” She announces, “Today I’m meeting Magnus, and I’m not leaving this unit until I do.”

“Okay, fine.” Alec says as he sits on the chair next to her and types in his username and password. He pauses for a few seconds, mulls a thought, before giving Izzy a quick side hug and a whispered _sorry, I’ve just been really busy_, which Izzy returns with a roll of the eyes and a pinch in the arm. _It’s fine, stupid_, she mutters back before starting on her patient research.

Alec starts his day, going through the motions of it all, and feels a soft tug at his chest as he does. This is the first time Magnus is going to be in the unit as simply a civilian, not a patient. Alec can still pinpoint spots in CR4 where all the significant parts of their relationship has seeded itself into the earth and peeked out slowly towards the sun. Small, weighty smiles exchanged in the hallways. Short, side-by-side walks done under the guise of running into each other. Inappropriate innuendos shared teasingly behind the curtains of room 34. Small things they’ve taken for themselves. Magnus has permeated the walls of this place with verdant tendrils of flowers and vines, upheaving every miserable memory in Alec’s mind—losses, frustrations, grief—into something drowned in sunlight. 

Alec doesn’t believe in destiny, but Magnus getting admitted into _this_ specific hospital, in _their_ specific unit, in _that_ specific bed, to be taken care of _one_ specific nurse, when so many things could have easily steered their lives down different paths, makes him want to think otherwise. Maybe there is something out there in the universe who decides which lines run parallel, and which lines are meant to intersect. Maybe some people are just meant to find other people, some they’re meant to like, some they’re meant to hate. Some they’re meant to watch lovingly from afar as the other finally walks without their crutches for the first time in a month. 

Magnus comes into view, limps ever so slightly towards his direction, but he’s walking, fully weight bearing on the injury that has healed magnificently through the help of many appointments with Raphael. Alec remembers the painstaking, every day work Magnus has pushed himself to do; of stretching and strengthening each willing muscle of his body despite the exhaustion and the pain. He remembers the low moments of uncertainties that he has witnessed, the silent afternoons with Magnus’ hands cradling a pamphlet, and the even more silent evenings of them watching Nutcracker rehearsals and Magnus’ eyes dancing the steps his body can’t. All of it is now replaced by _the grin_ Magnus has on his mouth, as if he’s seeing his future bloom before his very eyes, like the clouds have finally shifted and the sun has broken through—and Alec couldn’t hold it. 

“Alexander,” Magnus blinks as he finally stands in front of him, “Are you tearing up?”

“Maybe,” he admits, sniffing a little, “You look incredible.”

Magnus raises a brow teasingly, “Don’t I always?” 

“Yes.” Alec smiles knowingly, “But today you look happy.”

“I am, love.” Magnus agrees through a breathy chuckle that he couldn’t keep in, and he runs fingers over the line of hair across Alec’s forehead, “Large part thanks to you.” He cocks his head sideways in thought, “I would kiss you but professionalism.”

Alec laughs, “Yeah, good call.” 

He looks over Magnus’ shoulder and sees Izzy wildly gesticulating at him from a few meters away. He ushers her to come over with a wave of a hand, and finally, with Magnus turning around and Izzy walking up to him, the two most important people in his life finally meet.

“Isabelle, this is Magnus.” Alec finally makes the introductions, one that is a few weeks too late, “Magnus, this is Isabelle.”

“Hi,” Izzy says, happiness brimming her entirety from the corners of her eyes down to the tips of her toes, and Magnus returns the same sentiment, unable to hide the excited grin on his lips as he realizes who is in front of him.

They hug as if they’ve read each other’s thoughts, and their words take off like they’ve known each other for years, conversations moving smoothly from one subject to another. Alec listens contentedly in the background, making small noises of dissent whenever the topic touches anything remotely close to a jab at him. As Alec watches Izzy and Magnus talk to each other animatedly, grinning from ear to ear, he feels something _shift_. 

_What do you want? _ The question asks itself again, an echo of the time where Alec sits on the side of his mattress in an apartment he hasn’t regarded his home for a long while now, an almost-kiss playing non-stop like an old, classic film in his head. Alec feels like he’s standing at the edge of something, like the answer he’s been looking for is sitting impatiently at the tip of his tongue, demanding to be said out loud. 

Magnus laughs, and like second nature Alec smiles at the sound, like a lost traveller finally coming home—and _finally_, it comes to him. The answer to a long-asked question.

Again, the question asks itself, as if challenging him to answer it aloud. 

_What do you want? _

Alec puts his whole heart into it.

_Everything. I want everything. _

[►](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o5M8dUUJIUw)

Alec arrives at Magnus’ that evening with an ache sitting at the base of his neck, and Magnus looks up to the sound of the unlocked door opening.

It truly isn’t anything special. 

Magnus is on his laptop looking through some electronic documents, which Alec remembers are to finalize his back-to-work program now that he’s officially released from his fiber-glass cast. The yellow light from the side table lamp throws soft illumination and deep shadows onto his body as he works. There’s a plate of food under a still-warm oven. The speakers softly play Debussy.

It feels like how everyday feels.

Magnus abandons his work as Alec steps into the foyer. He smiles. “Good evening, love.”

Alec doesn’t tire at the sight and the sound, and thinks he never will. He smiles back. “Good evening.”

“Dinner’s in the oven.” He says as Alec gingerly places his work bag onto the floor and peels his hoodie off to hang it on the coat rack.

“Thank you.” Alec answers, and he wonders if he sounds as soft as he feels. He shucks off his dirty scrubs and zips it up in his work bag, leaving his undershirt and boxers on, something he does to spare Magnus’ home from hospital grossness. He pads behind the couch, dips down to give Magnus a kiss on the cheek and says, “I’ll shower and I’ll be right out.”

“How’s work?” Magnus murmurs, eyes still lost at the laptop screen before him, and Alec answers through the sound of him rustling out of his clothes and the shower curtain being pulled back.

“Had to fill an injury report.” 

Magnus’ head snaps up. “_What? _”

“Damien scratched me, that punk.” 

With much more incredulousness, Magnus hisses, “_What? _”

He hears a slightly muffled answer, and Magnus could almost see Alec’s hands in the air, placating. “_Easy_. It’s fine. It was an accident, just on the back of my neck. He almost fell and I was the dumb guy trying to be heroic. I tried to guide him onto the floor and his nails caught skin.”

Magnus huffs a breath, shaking his head, because _of course_ Alec would be the one to have a couple of layers carved off of his neck. Not something that is unexpected for the only twenty-seven-year-old in Brooklyn with an impending chronic back problem. Nursing, Magnus thinks as he remembers seeing a patient in CR4 take a swing at Meliorn one day, is truly is an injury-prone profession. He half returns to his work and lets the sound of the shower hitting tile mingle with the sound of Claire de Lune in the background. It eases some tension off of Magnus’ temples but it takes fingers working against his forehead to will away the migraine that spasms through his skull.

The shower stills and the curtain slides against the metal rod as it opens, leaving Debussy hanging solitarily in the air. Magnus is just about to snap his laptop close to call it a night when he hears a call from the bathroom. 

“Magnus?” Alec’s voice carries through the open doors, “Can you come here?”

“Of course,” Magnus says, already concerned, as he rises onto his feet. 

The walk to the bathroom is short, and when Magnus gets there, he sees a half-dressed Alec standing with his back facing the counter, body twisted oddly as he tries to visualize the superficial wound on the base of his neck. He has an open tube of Polysporin on the counter, alongside a package of opened sterile swabs and a bandage. Magnus tries not to appreciate the form that towers before him and focuses instead on the worry that pinches at brow. 

Alec looks at him imploringly, motioning at the supplies. “Help me?”

“Darling, you said it’s fine.” Magnus mutters worriedly, almost seething but barely able to. He lays careful hands on Alec’s shoulders and turns him slightly to get a better look at the scratch. “It looks painful.”

“This should help.” Alec answers, voice soft as he faces the counter and squeezes ointment onto the sterile swabs. His fingers work expertly on the small supplies, years of experience evident in the dexterity of his hands as he prepares the bandage. He passes a swab to Magnus who has taken his position behind him, one hand already pressed on the outskirts of the minor but reddened wound. 

Alec plants his hands onto the edge of the sink to steady himself and Magnus hovers over his shoulder, eyes trained solely on the task before him. He gingerly drags the ointment over the four jagged lines that has been harshly drawn on Alec’s skin, careful not to disturb the fragile bed that remains. Magnus is close enough that Alec could feel the breath against the upslope of his nape, fanning softly. Alec’s mind hones in on their points of contact, first their feet where toes brush heel, second their thighs where they’re pressed together by the mere need to position, and third every single pad of the fingers Magnus has lain on the bulk of his arm. Alec’s nerves fire at every single shift of position, cataloging each sensation like his skin has set out to map the migration of Magnus’ hands along its entirety. He feels his grip on the sink tighten momentarily before he releases a hand to pass the bandage the same way he does the swabs. Magnus’ fingers alight from his back to peel the backing off the bandage, and something inside Alec’s gut rebels at the loss, rife with protest. It only momentarily stills as Magnus presses back again with the flat of his palm, smoothing the tackiness of the bandage flush against healthy skin. The touch leaves as soon as it comes.

It's a few beats after that Alec recognizes the breath he’s been holding. He lets his lungs empty, looks up at the mirror, and sees Magnus looking at him with the same creased brow he’s been wearing since he came into the bathroom.

“Hey,” Magnus almost-whispers, body leaning slightly towards Alec, “Talk to me.” He can see the same _something_ from this morning glaze the other’s eyes. He lays fingers on the line of Alec’s jaw, tracing gently before pulling at it so he can meet his eyes. 

Alec lets out another breath, smaller this time, and presses the flat of his palm against the back of the hand Magnus hovers over his face, grasping tightly but slowly, neediness and nervousness co-existing in the same grip of the fingers. Magnus looks and looks and looks, worried, curious, and suddenly, knocked-out breathless as he realizes the upward tug Alec’s other hand is making at the hem of his shirt—_take it off_. 

Magnus obliges, wordlessly but with entire choruses singing in his ears, gently taking his hand from Alec’s grip which he relinquishes half-heartedly, and pulling at the back of his shirt. He peels it off in one graceful sweep of fabric over his head. Alec visibly breathes, shoulders lifting and descending, eyes trekking upward along the curved lines and hallowed dips of muscle and bone, and Magnus takes his hand warmly, tugs at it, and presses it against his body, inviting it to touch what he sees. Magnus lovingly relishes the electricity that strikes in Alec’s eyes, like lightning cracking the night sky in half, as he follows each line he finds with an exploratory touch. Alec’s hand journeys up lines of abs, over a broad chest, and curves around Magnus’ neck, cradling as it always does, fingers splayed against the short buzz of hair at the base. Alec kisses Magnus, open-mouthed and slow, lips catching lips, tongues touching. 

They both come up for air, bodies pressed together like hands clasped in prayer, and Alec releases the words like birds in the air. “I want you.”

Magnus presses his lips together, hesitating, “Alexander.” He says, “Are you sure?”

“I’m ready.” Alec just about whispers, but takes pause himself. He looks at Magnus like they’re at a two-way street, and the only way they’re crossing is side-by-side, enthusiastically. “Are you?”

Magnus smiles softly, nodding. “Yes.”

Alec can’t help but grin, says the next words under his breath, “Good. I’m ready to learn.”

Magnus groans a harried _fuck_ under his breath and rejoices at the permission to finally be able to follow through. He drags a snickering Alec by the draw strings of his pants, trying to steal as much from his mouth as he can during the short but almost impossibly long way to the bed, but with Alec clumsily pulling his long tree trunk legs from his sweats, all Magnus catches is air. Magnus gives up, laughing, as he watches Alec hop on one foot to swing the piece of clothing to the other side of the room. When the offending thing hits the floor, they catch each other’s mouths in perfect synchrony, falling back until the back of Magnus’ knees hit the edge of the bed. In a sweep that could only be described as utterly gymnastic, Magnus flips them both as they descend onto the mattress, both hands pressed against the nape of Alec’s neck.

Alec laughs, truly laughs, corners of eyes crinkling like happy crows’ feet, and Magnus touches the lines, strumming at them softly. He pushes himself up and brackets Alec’s hips within the space of his knees, impossibly close, the closest they ever have been. Alec’s laugh settles into a smile, then settles into pure breathes, hands settling on the thighs that embrace him. Magnus whispers affectionately, like a fervent prayer, “I’ll take care of you.”

An entire big bang explodes in Alec’s chest right then and there—yearning, lust, and enchantment intermingling like the particles that birthed the universe. He breathes out carbon out of his lips as Magnus catches the skin on his jaw, neck, and chest with starry kisses, sometimes with soft lips, sometimes with the grit of teeth. Magnus’ hands trail as he descends, the touch leaving lines of comet tails wherever they pass. He takes his time at Alec’s hip bones, like he’s found hidden earth-like bodies where they dip, and this is the only time he can kiss planets, so he’ll have his fill. Alec feels every synapse in his body come alive, thunder-clap lines of pleasure lighting up his body with every single one leading to his groin. His breathing picks up like entire oceans fill his lungs, and he just about _drowns_ when Magnus’ mouth finally catches his clothed cock. 

“_Fuck_,” Alec groans, head thrown back onto the pillow, eyes pressed shut as the heat of a burning sun pools at his gut. Another sun off another system ignites within him as Magnus pulls his dick free from the constraints of his boxer briefs. Everything simply burns into oblivion when Magnus lets the head of Alec’s cock sit on the flat of his tongue, lapping, testing, until he fully engulfs him like a collapsing galaxy. 

“_Fuck_,” Alec repeats like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room, crumpled voice, crumpled sheets within the grip of his clenched fists. Magnus works on him gently, patiently, lovingly, shifting from one rhythm to another as one hand presses at Alec’s base. With every lap of the tongue and movement of the lips, Alec sees stars and feels cosmic dust stir in his gut, and when he hits the back of Magnus’ throat, his axis tilts completely. He swallows the moan that threatens to break past his teeth, and suddenly Magnus pulls away, as if in dissent. The loss of sensation drives Alec up a wall, but a hand replaces what his mouth has left, working just as hard at drawing out the heat that continues to build. 

“Look at me,” Magnus whispers, hoarse and needy, “I want to hear you.”

Alec closes his eyes momentarily, a soft flush tinting his cheeks like the flare of a red giant a million lightyears away, and Magnus unclenches the fist Alec has made on the sheets and threads their fingers together. 

“Alexander,” Magnus says breathlessly now, and it hits Alec like a knee to the gut, “_Let me hear you. _”

The words do the trick, and it’s like everything opens like a flood gate being let lose. A thumb flicks expertly over the head of Alec’s cock and a litany of words formed around moans collapses like a dying star out of his lips. The wet warmth of Magnus’ mouth comes back and plunges Alec into its heat once again, and this time Alec says what he wants to say, _there, there, fuck—yes, Magnus, please—_the momentum builds and builds and builds, and Alec climbs it with one hand threaded through Magnus’ hair and the other intertwined with his fingers until he _hits_ the crest—

It barrels through Alec like a cosmic explosion, like two galaxies that has been on a collision course for a billion of years finally catching each other. His entire body clenches like a solitary muscle, riding the wave for as long as he can, until he can’t anymore and he collapses on the mattress, panting and half-lidded with pleasure. He blinks, breathless, lost in his own afterglow. He pulls at the hand that he has in his, and plants a kiss right on the back of it, leaving a star of his own on Magnus’ skin. Alec tugs once again, _come up_, and Magnus obliges, and they kiss like universe started within the space of their mouths pressed together. 

“Jesus Christ.” Alec murmurs, completely satiated, and Magnus settles within the cradle of his arm, just as, “Magnus, that was good.”

“Not too shabby for your first time?” Magnus laughs, a fingers scratching at Alec’s cheek.

Alec chuckles, “I can’t complain.”

The three words bang within the cage of Alec’s ribs, again, demanding to be let out. He pushes it down, _shush_, because it’s not the right place, not the right time, not when it can be misconstrued as something said through the haze of the afterglow. 

“Nap.” Magnus murmurs, “We’ll pick this up later.”

Alec chuckles like he’s heard a funny joke. He takes back the arm that Magnus is using as a pillow and props himself upright with it. Magnus looks up at him, curious, about to get up himself, but Alec plants a hand on his chest and pushes him back onto the mattress. Alec hovers over Magnus, fingers at the waist band of his pants, tugging it down. 

“I told you,” Alec almost-whispers, gleam in is eyes, “I’m ready to learn.”

Magnus looks back with unwavering neediness, lifting his hips up so Alec can slide both his briefs and his pants over the swells of his ass. He huffs out a breath as Alec presses this palm against his stomach, slowly travelling south.

He grins, his voice a notch above a whisper.

“Show me what you got, Lightwood.”

They create multiple universes within a single night. 

Alec comes home one night from a complete shit-show a shift, three beats away from glassy eyes.

Magnus looks up from the television, scrambles to turn it off, and presses his mouth into a thin line. All already admissions of guilt. Alec has already heard Meredith Grey’s voice through the door even before he opens it.

“You’re watching it.” Alec says bluntly.

Magnus jumps onto his feet, alarmed, and once his mouth opens just about a thousand words come out in rapid succession. “It’s trash and a complete misrepresentation of how hospitals run, there is an extreme lack of nursing representation and not everything revolves around doctors, and gross, they fuck in a hospital where it’s rife with infection? Disgusting!”

Alec feels his chest lighten, teeth catching his bottom lip, and just like that, the shitty shift is forgotten. It’s replaced by a full-bellied laugh he can’t contain. How does Magnus Bane exist, Alec thinks, and what kind of saint-like life has he led in a past reincarnation that made the universe think he deserves him?

Magnus giggles at his own defensive tactic, and he pads towards Alec’s direction, embracing him fully, gross scrubs be damned. 

“I’m sorry, but it’s just so addicting,” Magnus laughs, and Alec enfolds him into his arms, breathing deeply, tension melting with every second that passes. 

Alec thinks of the hundreds of things that has gone wrong in his life, years and years of blue prints and sand lines and brick walls that has left him utterly alone, unfathomably lost—and somehow, right now, he has Magnus, lunar and bright, in his earthly orbit. The moon, dancing pirouettes around an earth who watches him lovingly, letting him turn his tides and illuminate his nights. 

The three words knock on his chest softly, as if it knows today, they’re going to be set free.

“I love you.” Alec whispers, oceans rising, mountains standing tall.

Magnus stills, a waxing gibbous. Alec fears the stillness, and he feels every bird and every tree rustle in his chest. And then a breathless laugh.

“I love you too, Alexander.” Soft, loving, true.

They kiss—the nurse and the ballet dancer, the earth and the moon— and the universe, in all its omnipotence, rejoices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments! And also thank you to the kudos and to all who do their commenting on twitter. I appreciate them all! If you want to talk to me about this chapter, I used the tag #aox3fic and I'm @Nhixxie on twitter.


	5. Yeah, drink up, you’ve got a lot more of that to do when we get home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec and Magnus live their daily lives. 
> 
> The chapter is written out in an unusual format, so it might be jarring initially, but you'll get the hang of it. A lot of the loose ends from the previous chapters are tied in this one. There's sad stuff, happy stuff, sappy stuff. You can handle it. ;)
> 
> For those who don't follow me on twitter, I've made a trailer for this fic which I've embedded on the first chapter of this fic. Give it a watch! Also, we're finally here at the end of the line. Thank you so much for keeping up with this story, and I hope this satisfies. It's sad to let go of this story as it will always be the first thing I've written for a couple I cherish dearly. But I guess one door closes, another door opens, so you can expect more from me in the future. Also, I intended to write some smut for this chapter, but with the way the emotional tone of it all mapped out, I just couldn't find a spot for it. I will be posting it as a separate one-shot, maybe, so for those expecting some sexy things, unfortunately, it's not going to be in this chapter.
> 
> Anyway, I'm @nhixxie at twitter if you want to chat, and I follow and post under the #aox3fic tag. Enjoy!

Alec pushes through the doors of The Little Sweet Café, the bell above his head chiming a soft greeting. 

He breathes, flipping his hood off his head and as he does flecks of water from the drizzle outside go everywhere. 

“Oh god, sorry,” he apologizes to the woman on his left, and he gets a nonchalant wave of the hand. He sees the bulky anatomy book she has spread over her small table, and almost immediately he feels for her. He’s forgotten the feeling of nursing school, and he doesn’t want to revisit the torment anytime soon.

He walks to the counter and Jordan beats him to the punch even before he could attempt to catch his attention. “A black coffee and a cappuccino?”

“Are you gonna do that every time?” Alec asks, amused.

Jordan snickers, tamping ground espresso into the portafilter, “Every damn time.” He attaches it to the machine and presses a button that revs it to life. “How’s Magnus? Leg any better?”

Alec places a couple of bills on the counter and stuffs the rest into the tip jar. “Getting there. He’s allowed to fully weight bear on it now, so he’s happy.”

“Good to hear.” Jordan answers, the sound of milk frothing filling the air, “I still remember the day he finally got that audition for NYCB.” A smile grows on his lips at the thought, “He just finished training me and had an absolute fit taking that Ragnor guy’s order. I think he was deliberating punching him at one point.”

Alec thinks about the last conversation he’s overheard between Ragnor and Magnus (“_Jesus Christ, Bane.” “Fell, I will riot. I swear to god I will riot—”_) chuckles under his breath, an elbow against the counter. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“.. The Thursday after that.” Jordan says, squinting in the air in remembrance, as he pops the lids onto the two cups before him, “That’s when he got the news that he made it through. Came here right away with the biggest grin on his face.”

Alec wishes he could have seen the sight of Magnus that day. “Probably the happiest he’s ever looked.”

“So far.” Jordan places the cups on the counter for Alec to take, smirking. “We’ve got high expectations for you, Lightwood.”

Alec smiles at the challenge. 

“Me too.”

He flips his hood up, a tray in hand, and waves a hasty goodbye at Jordan’s direction before running into the rain.

“Dad just got called in for an emergent PCI.” Alec says as he walks into the bathroom, eyes on the screen of his phone as he scrolls a finger through his messages, “He’ll probably be in the cath lab for the entire night, so he won’t be able to make it to dinner.”

Magnus huffs, pursing his lips, brow creased, so concentrated on the task at hand that he’s walled off any other outside stimuli. Alec watches in amusement from the bathroom door, trying hard to pin his impending chuckle against the roof of his mouth.

He pinches the knot of the tie he has just under his collar, adjusting its position on the center of his chest. He plays with it a couple more times, lips being pressed together tighter and tighter with every twist of the fingers against the fabric, until it could only be described as a pout.

Magnus huffs for a third time before Alec finally decides to be a decent human being and offer some words of reassurance.

“It looks fine, Magnus,” Alec says, and it makes Magnus jump slightly at the shoulders. He pushes himself off his leaned position and places gentle hands against the side of Magnus’ arms. He leans forward and settles his chin on the shoulder of his suit jacket. “You look fine.”

Magnus half rolls his eyes at the appeasement, but cranes his head back to give Alec a kiss on the cheek. “Just fine?” 

Alec hums. “Beautiful.”

Magnus, like he always does, scratches at the cheek within reach. It’s the left one today, a barely-there scruff meeting the pads of his fingers. He says teasingly, “I was going for breathtaking.”

Alec grins. “There’s been a couple of ways you’ve taken my breath away.”

Magnus’ face crumples, a laugh escaping his mouth as he pushes Alec’s snickering face away. “Darling, you need to stop!”

“What, are we above sexual innuendos now?” Alec incredulously asks, a laugh wrapped around the question. He smooths the shoulder of Magnus’ suit jacket that he’s used as a chin rest.

“Of course not,” Magnus answers as he finally gives his tie some reprieve from his nervous hands, “There is though, a time and a place.” He turns, looking at Alec pointedly, “And my first Lightwood family dinner is definitely _not_ one of them.” 

“You missed it because of your obsession over your tie, but Dad won’t be able to make it tonight.” Alec says, “He got a call from the cath lab for an emergent procedure.”

Magnus’ eyes soften, a sigh tumbling out of his lips as a hand cradles the underside of Alec’s forearm. “Am I being rude?”

Alec smiles, “No, not at all.” He turns to the counter to grab the lint roller and brushes it against his jacket sleeve, eyes trained at Magnus. “Don’t worry. They won’t bite. And besides, you already know half of the family.”

Magnus breathes, more calmly now, as he gives his tie one last pinch. “I’m acquainted with Jace at best, and Isabelle, as much as I adore her, I only know at surface level.” 

“Isn’t that why we’re having this dinner in the first place?”

Magnus presses his lips together once again. “Good point.” He murmurs before fully turning to Alec, already accusatory, like he can foresee the events of tonight. “I don’t want any dick jokes in the middle of me trying to impress your family.”

Alec looks back at him with brows raised to the heavens, a beat away from a laugh, like he’s said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

“Magnus.” He says, “You’re the principal dancer of the oldest, _most revered_ ballet company in the entire country, if not the world.” Alec stows his wallet into the back pocket of his slacks, shrugging as he nonchalantly says, “If anything, they have to impress you.”

“Also, we’re a family of healthcare workers.” Alec says, a teasing gleam in his eye, “You’re going to get a dick joke, and if not a dick, another body part equally as inappropriate, I assure you.”

Magnus’ laugh escapes the cage of nerves it’s been trapped in, his eyes pinching happily at the corners. “God, what have I gotten myself into?”

The smile on Alec’s mouth refuses to let up as he harkens to a memory that feels like it’s been pulled from years ago. He looks at him pointedly, the exact way he did three months ago. “That’s what you get for dating my kind.” 

He leans a hip against the sink, perpendicular to the plane of Magnus’ body as he gives pause, watching languidly as Magnus cleans the soft smudge of khol from the corner of his eye. His mouth is still pressed together, slightly softer, but still with the same edginess. Alec hasn’t seen him this uneasy since his stay in the hospital, and it makes him steal a busy hand from Magnus and thread fingers together.

“Really, though,” Alec says, and it stills them both momentarily, “Is this too much?” 

_What do you think about meeting my parents?_ Alec remembers himself saying one chilly autumn night as they both laze on the couch, the last of his three twelve-hour shifts already in the back of his mind. He still feels the deep-seated fear that washes him over once the words take flight from his tongue. Those words are heavy words, and they’ve already perched on Magnus’ shoulder, chirping its implications into his ear. Ever since the realization of the little shelter they’ve built for themselves from prying eyes, Alec has felt a stubborn ache pinch at his chest every so often. The fact that it took Alec a month to get Izzy to meet Magnus sits in his mind heavily. Alec wants it be known that him and Magnus are on stable ground, and that they’re not going anywhere. But does Magnus mind? Does he prefer the privacy? Or has he silently been hurting at the fact that they seem to be this secret that Alec has yet to divulge to those closest to him? It’s too late for regret at that point, so Alec braces for impact instead, a _not yet, love_, one that will sting, surely. But what he gets is a bright smile that stills the swirling storm inside his mind. 

_Give me a time and a place. I’m there._

Magnus pulls at their intertwined hands and leaves a kiss right at the back of Alec’s. He smiles that bright smile, the same one he shines on him a week ago. “It’s not, love. I know I seem nervous, and I am. But I’ll be alright.”

Alec releases the rattled breath he unwittingly holds. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Magnus says with a tone of finality, still smiling. He untangles their hands, stands back, presents himself fully to Alec with hands upturned to either side, “Verdict?”

Alec’s eyes graze the tips of Magnus’ hair, meticulously spiked and slightly arched to side in a graceful sweep, flutter along slightly lined eyes, balmed lips, a crisp collar held together by the windsor knot of a brightly patterned tie. Broad shoulders form picturesque slopes that drop into the cliffs of Magnus’ maroon jacket sleeves, fabric hugging the lines just right. Well tailored pants with dark red lines down the side draws Alec’s eyes from waist band to ankle. 

“Alexander,” Magnus says, snapping fingers, and Alec’s brain finally goes online.

“Yeah?” He just about breathes.

“Concentrate.”

“Right.” Alec blinks, hands lifting halfway up from his sides like they have minds of their own. He presses his lips together, finally taking a moment to ponder a thought, and finally lets his fingers clasp around the tie that has been painstakingly worked on for the last half an hour. Magnus is about to open his mouth in protest when Alec holds a finger up, _trust me_, before resuming his work of loosening the tie completely, slipping it off the collar, and releasing buttons. He adjusts the collar to frame Magnus’ neck loosely, and already Magnus seem more like himself without the chokehold of that tie, leisurely yet poised at the same time. Alec hovers over another button, considering. 

“It’s a family dinner, darling.” Magnus warns.

Alec shrugs, “I see a meal right here.”

Magnus stills for a millisecond, cringes for the second time in the past hour, the groan he releases pulled from deep within. “A monster, I’ve created a monster..” He mutters exasperatedly as he pushes a laughing Alec out of the bathroom door, “Alexander, I swear to god, in front of your _mother—_”

“Bet you she’ll laugh.”

Magnus rolls his eyes as he unhooks his scarf from the coat rack. “Let’s not find out.”

“Okay, fine,” Alec squeezes past a hearty snicker as gets his fancy shoes on, “No dick jokes tonight.”

Magnus shoots him a pointed look as he throws his scarf around his neck, as if he barely believes the words out of Alec’s mouth. 

Alec settles into a smile and raises a hand in a solemn vow. “I promise.”

They shut the door of Magnus’ apartment and just finishes with locking up when they hear an _is this anyone’s taxi_ as they descend swiftly down the stairs. In unison they yell, _we’re coming_, and it takes Alexander Gideon Lightwood a look and a half from Magnus Bane for the already loose promise to be kept.

Little Sweet Café is bustling when Alec steps in with a ring of the bell hanging overhead.

He orders his cup of caffeine for the afternoon and sits at his favorite spot in the café, a leather seated booth tucked in the back, a relic from a closed-up Brooklyn diner a couple of blocks down. When demolition crews started tearing down the place, Sam, the owner of the café, slipped a hefty amount of bills into a couple of people’s hands, and in turn was able to spare one table and seat combo to take home. Alec could see initials and words scratched on the wooden backrest of the seats. He looks up onto the walls of the coffee shop and languidly takes in the posters and pictures plastered onto it. A long string of polaroids is draped from one end of the wall to the other, some quite old, browning at the edges. He sometimes wonders where these people are now.

He brings his cup of coffee up to his lips and takes a sip.

“Magnus coming today?” Jordan asks from the counter, wiping down the surface with a clean cloth.

Alec checks his phone again. “That was the plan.” Fifteen minutes late isn’t too bad. The subway lines are filled to the brim at this time of the evening. 

“You always know pre-season’s coming when you barely see him around.” Jordan says, “Busiest time of the year for ballet, apparently.”

Alec smiles, but he feels the strain on his mouth. “Yeah.”

Thirty minutes of waiting later and Alec decides to call it. It’s been a while since Magnus’ last text, and he’s left with an empty mug of coffee he’s rather not refill. He deposits his used cup onto the tray of dirty dishes at the back, waves a quick goodbye towards Jordan’s direction, and makes his way back home. 

It’s been sixteen days since Alec has really seen Magnus. Alec thinks about the complete mismatch of weeks they’ve had—Magnus not only working diligently on physical rehab, but aiding with choreographing new pieces for their upcoming programs. Alec forcing his body clock to reverse from nights to days as he wades through the muck of full-time shift work. When Magnus is at home, Alec is at work. When Alec is at home, he’s trying to catch up on the sleep he’s missed the last three shifts. 

_“Jesus Christ, Magnus, it’s not about you—” _

_“Agreed. It’s not about me.”_

_“Then what do you want from me?!”_

_“Leave. Come back when you’re ready to deal with your problems like an adult.”_

Arguments stir easier when both parties are at the peaks of their frustrations, and Alec feels like, for a while there, they’ve both been climbing their own mountains with little regard for the other’s ascent. It has been quite a staple for the past few weeks, arguments big and small, fuelled by their own pride and insecurities, and it leaves burnt trails wherever it goes. The all-consuming anger of losing your career because of a stupid injury versus the crushing weight of being over-worked and undervalued in the work you do. They’re fighting their own seemingly unwinnable battles that everyone looks like the enemy, even each other. They’ve had easier days, and Alec wouldn’t lie to himself and say he doesn’t miss them. 

When he gets to the door, he pushes in the key Magnus has copied for him two weeks ago to make the mismatch of their schedules a little bit easier. Alec remembers the softness in his chest when Magnus, almost timidly as if scared of the reaction he’ll get, gives him the keys over supper. The feeling of it seem so far away. 

_Relationships take effort, mi hermano_, he remembers Izzy say over Lightwood sibling brunch, _This is your first one, and it’s going to be hard._

_Hard is an understatement_, Alec thinks. He wonders if this is why people who love each other eventually break up. When is the tipping point for these relationships? What draws the final straw? It’s terrifying to think that one day the one you love the most is the now the person who rips at your heart one fiber at a time. Even more terrifying to think that Alec could understand how these people would choose to stay. 

Alec pads into the flat, looking around to see if there’s anything on Magnus’ to do list he can knock off. He squints at the small but fancy scrawl on the paper he has stuck on the fridge. He takes stock of the dishes on the sink, pulls his sleeves up, and starts loading them into the dishwasher. He pops the fridge door open, wading through its contents, and decides to put leftovers in the oven when he notes that supper will be upon them soon. He’s running the vacuum along the living room carpet, already quite proud of the number of things he’s crossed off the list, when a torrent of movement erupts from the door. It starts with heavy footsteps furiously thumping from the other side, and then keys being jammed into the doorknob like lives actually depended on it. Alec turns the vacuum off and watches the situation unfold, toeing the line between confused and suspicious, and finally sees Magnus burst through in a panic, heaving breaths in and out of his mouth like he just ran a marathon. Magnus catches Alec’s eyes right away.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Alec starts to ask, brow furrowed, “Are you—”

Magnus walks in big strides towards his direction—_is he mad_—and Alec finds himself grasped into a desperate embrace, like before him is a drowning man trying to stay afloat. Alec, mildly confused, encircles his arms back, palms flush against the plane of muscle beneath Magnus’ shirt. 

“I’m sorry, Alexander, the A train broke down and took an eternity to get up and running again so I had to reroute—and then my phone died and I couldn’t tell you I was running late,” Magnus just about _stammers_, and he’s in the midpoint of frightened and apologetic, “And then when I got to the café—” 

“Slow down, Magnus, you’re gonna go into a full-blown panic attack if you keep at this.” Alec urges softly, hands shifting across Magnus’ back, still puzzled, “It’s fine. It’s fine, I’m here.”

Magnus breathes, following the rise and fall of Alec’s chest against his until work of breathing settles. “When I got to the café,” he mutters, “and you weren’t there, I—I thought that was it. We’ve been fighting so much, and I thought—” he draws a sharp breath, “I thought you’ve had enough.”

Alec doesn’t know exactly why, but he smiles slightly. “You’re an idiot, Magnus Bane.”

They unclasp from each other, just a bit, to allow themselves a view of each others faces. Alec shakes his head slightly, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. “If you think a couple of arguments is going to make me forget how much I love you, maybe you’re not as smart as I think you are.”

He unfurls a hand from Magnus’ back and finds its home on his cheek, dipping down to press a kiss against his lips. He pulls back, but lets everything else stay intertwined. “We agree, I love you. We fight, I love you. Everything goes to shit, I love you.”

Magnus sniffs, smiling. “I love you too, Alexander.” He chuckles, “In agreement, in argument, and in shit.”

“Okay, Mr. Fancy Words.” Alec snickers, and catches Magnus’ grinning mouth into another kiss, lingering this time. He buries his nose into Magnus’ shoulder afterwards, holding him exponentially tighter, like letting go is life or death. 

“I’ve missed you.” Alec mutters, “Jesus, that was an awful sixteen days.”

Alec could feel Magnus’ smile through the shift of his shirt on his shoulder. “You counted?”

“’Course.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Magnus breathes, “I’m sorry for not being forthright with my baggage. I won’t let it build anymore, I promise.”

Alec nods. “Me too. Sorry for thinking you wouldn’t understand mine.”

“Less fighting, more talking, from now on.” Magnus says, fingers trailing soft lines along Alec’s back. He blinks, a crease growing on his brow. “Love?”

Alec shifts his chin from where it rests. “Hm?”

“Did you forget to take something out of the oven?”

Alec just about jumps out of Magnus’ hold and sees the beginnings of smoke curling from the thin space of the oven door. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit—” 

Magnus laughs, watching as Alec dons the rabbit-shaped oven mitts he picked up from a shop close to the theatre, waving the thin smoke that billows from the open oven door. He picks up the chicken pot pie that is now a charred block, dumps it on the sink, and turns the tap on full blast. 

The smoke detector beeps its godforsaken beep, as if to add onto the chaos of today. Magnus walks to the windows and lifts them all open.

Still laughing, he thinks, _In agreement, in argument, in shit._

New York City at night, as painfully cliché as it sounds, is alive.

Buildings are drowned in gleaming lights, visible from a borough away, like it’s fighting the moon for dominance in the night sky. Bright billboards form a canyon around the line of cars trying to make their way through Manhattan, anything from clothing to Broadway shows to album releases trying to sell their wares to the thousands of eyes looking wondrously at them. Bulgari and Louis Vuitton morph into dollar pizza and bagel stands within a matter of a few blocks. Excited voices, drunken singing, and incessant beeps from taxis rise into the atmosphere and swirls with the chilly air.

They’re maybe a couple of blocks away from their destination when Magnus leans towards their driver, hands some bills over with tip to spare, and turns to Alec, grinning. “Let’s walk.”

Alec, as with everything Magnus does and simply is, wholeheartedly obliges. 

They both spill into the paused traffic, a few lanes to go before reaching the sidewalk, and they maneuver through the tetris of cars expertly. They get one particularly long honk of the horn as traffic starts to ease, and Alec gives the car an unbothered _wait a minute_ of a gesture which merits them another. Magnus sees the fury starting to build in Alec’s eyes, so he curls his fingers around his arm and gives it a tug. Alec already plans to plant himself firmly in place just to spite his aggressor.

“I still think I should’ve fought him.” Alec grumbles, slight wind sweeping his hair as they keep pace with the throng of people filling the streets of Manhattan.

“Alexander, if you’d have it your way, you’d fight everyone.” Magnus teases, hands in his pockets, “Also, he’s old enough to be your grandfather.”

“Sure, the elderly are nice like Christmas until they’re delirious, half-drunk on adrenalin, and swinging fists.” Alec says with a slight chatter of the teeth, and Magnus is sure that he’s remembering Damien and his little almost-boxing fight with Meliorn. “There must be something in those energy shakes we give them.”

Magnus laughs at the thought, winding his scarf around his neck one more time. “Bring home some of those, will you? Might help with the grand jetés next week.”

Alec whips his head towards Magnus’ direction as they fall into a stop in a paused pedestrian crossing. “They’re letting you do the big jumps now?”

Magnus’ smile turns into a grin, excitement unbound from the twinkle of his eyes down to the little hop bursting from his feet. “Raphael finally gave me the go ahead.”

Alec bites his lower lip in an attempt to hide the joy he siphons from Magnus’ anticipation. It’s been a long, arduous three months. Since the moment Magnus’ cast was split in half, he’s been in and out of rehabilitation and physiotherapy sessions with NYCB’s health care team, doing everything from weight-bearing exercises to yoga in the hope of fortifying his tibial bone to a point where he can finally get to dancing again. The first time Magnus slips not one, but both feet into his ballet flats is a true momentous occasion. The first time he bore his full weight on his tibial bone as he brought himself into a beautiful arabesque is a sight Alec is going to remember for a long time. For Magnus to be able to perform the one ballet movement that he loves the most yet brought him the most hardship is going to either send them into victorious euphoria or break them completely.

“What do you need?” Alec asks as they move forward, the pedestrian light flipping to a walking figure, “Tell me, I’m on it.”

“Be there.” Magnus answers, nice and simple, a smile on his lips.

Alec, despite the chill that whips through his hair and upturns his jacket’s lapels, says the warmest word he can muster. “Always.”

Magnus curls a hand that hides inside Alec’s coat pocket and they let New York buoy them forward. 

Alec sips his coffee, flipping a stack of printed nursing education forms with one hand. He rolls his eyes at the sheer amount of work that needs to be done—and during their off days too. The three days he has to live a life outside of the hospital, and he’s required to spend a precious portion of it poring over conscious sedation learning modules. _Complete bullshit_, Alec has grumbled repeatedly under his breath. 

He’s in the middle of fentanyl and midazolam dosages when something catches his foot underneath the table. It makes him jump mid-sip, almost spilling his coffee onto his paperwork. 

Magnus grins a shit-eating grin from the other side of the booth, his cup bracketed by both hands.

“Asshole.” Alec can’t help but laugh out, wiping the bit of coffee from the corner of his mouth.

“What?” Magnus smiles cheekily, “In agreement, in argument, in shit.”

Alec rolls his eyes, chuckling. 

“Yeah, yeah.”

They arrive at a modestly-sized brownstone off Bond street, and amongst the brightly lit restaurants that surround it, Il Buco is humbly unassuming. A rust-colored awning extends from the front, bracketed by wooden planters filled with fragrant herbs and purple flowers. The glass-paned displays at either side of the door is filled with wicker baskets of bread and fruit, linen curtains softly cascading from the ceiling. It’s a picturesque little place that harkens to the small restaurants lining the streets of Italy. Magnus and Alec enter through a refurbished antique door, and are greeted with muted, yellow lighting from fancifully curved chandeliers and old wooden shelves with all manners of winery displayed for all to see. 

Magnus whistles, taking in the extravagantly set tables, a stark contrast from the simple exterior. “How often do these Lightwood family dinners happen again?”

“Once every two months.” Alec says, looking around as they wait by the hostess’ podium, “Most of the time we argue about stupid things over dollar pizza.”

Magnus raises a brow. “Sure, darling, and that Armani suit you’re wearing is thrifted?” 

Alec rolls his eyes, brushing an elbow against Magnus’ side. “So my mother knows how to pick good birthday presents.”

“Well, remind me to tell her she knows how to pick good restaurants too.” Magnus says in wonder, eyes still trained on the hammered bronze ceilings that gleam softly against the low lights.

Alec laughs, “She’ll be glad to hear you’re already impressed. If I know my own mother, she’s already planned a couple of things to keep you that way.”

The hostess greets them warmly and asks for their reservation, and after a quick moment of scanning her papers, she motions them forward and leads them through the throng of already seated patrons. 

Between the lively chatter rising from the Friday night crowd and the smell of olive oil sizzling in the kitchen, it’s not difficult to forget the fact that Magnus is meeting his boyfriend’s mother for the first time, not to mention actually engaging in conversation his boyfriend’s almost-brother and.. unrequited first love? Magnus hasn’t had time to think about the latter. Today, or two months ago, the first and last time the story has been told. In this small, quickly elapsing moment where they make their way through the restaurant, Magnus peels back apprehension and weaves through what he feels. 

He definitely doesn’t think he needs to tiptoe around the nature of Jace and Alec’s relationship. It is what it is; it has passed, and it isn’t a fiercely guarded secret that the years-old rejection has had lingering effects. Magnus can sometimes see it in the way Alec steels himself for a cold no, and even when he gets an enthusiastic yes, there’s worry in his eyes like a refusal is always in the horizon. It’s a monster of an emotion, Magnus thinks. He’s been in the throes of it there before, and it’s what makes him press reassuring hands onto Alec’s cheeks every time he sees it rear its ugly head. It’s what makes him reach out and grasp at the hand swinging by Alec’s side, at that moment. Magnus gets a warm smile in return. 

They continue on to the back of the restaurant where the crowd starts to thin into smaller, more secluded pockets of diners, and the open spaces shrink into cozy brick walls and low, arched ceilings. It looks almost like a warmly lit wine cellar, with shelves of stacked bottles lining the walls and even suspended meticulously along the ceiling. They turn a corner and table set for six people looms before their eyes, and from the soft grin that upturns Alec’s lips, they’ve finally found their spot.

Maryse Lightwood rises excitedly from her seat, arms held out in front of her, “Alec! Oh, my boy, I’ve missed you!” she exclaims and Alec brings her in for a tight hug, kissing her cheek.

“Missed you too, Mom.” He laughs, eyes crinkling contentedly at the corners, “You went all out tonight, huh?”

Maryse holds her hands together against her chest, grinning. “I wanted to make a good impression.” She says, peering behind Alec as if to finally get a glimpse of a secret he’s been keeping for a while. Magnus couldn’t help but smile nervously at the adorable anticipation.

Alec laughs and finally steps aside, hand on the small of Magnus’ back as he takes a couple of steps forward. “Mom, this is Magnus. My boyfriend.”

Magnus feels the words more than hears it, and it spreads warmth in his chest like he hasn’t been introduced as such before. It makes him look at Alec like whatever he feels in his heart could bleed through his gaze. He smiles.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Maryse.” He says, extending a polite hand towards her, allowing her the decision to take it or opt for something warmer. Magnus doesn’t think she even sees the offered handshake; instead, she takes him in his arms and embraces him the way she does Alec. 

“Oh, you’re so beautiful!” she says breathlessly as she finally steps back, hands still on Magnus’ arms, “I’ve heard so many things, I’ve been wanting to meet you for the longest time,” she looks at Magnus and Alec standing there together, “Oh, god, you both are so beautiful, I’m just—” she sniffs, and Magnus looks up at Alec, grinning like a fool.

There’s a flush of pink along the back of Alec’s neck, and Magnus tries not to laugh at the sight of it. “Mom, too early.” He says exasperatedly, a placating hand in front of him, “It’s not even eight o’clock and you’re already crying.”

Maryse breathes, shoulders lifting and dropping. “Okay,” she says with a tone of finality, “We haven’t even started and I’m already embarrassing Alec, gosh. Come, sit, please.” 

“Isabelle,” Magnus smiles as he spots Izzy with a bright grin from where she sits, “Happy to see you, as always.”

She rises to her feet, walks around her mother’s chair and winds both arms around his neck. “I missed you, Magnus,” she happily gushes as they separate, hands still pressed against Magnus’ forearms, “Two weeks is way too long. Didn’t we agree to hangout soon?”

Magnus laughs, “We did, and I apologize. They’ve been asking for me at NYCB more and more now. We need to set up something more definite.”

“Let’s do it. And I don’t want any scragglers cutting into my Magnus time.” Izzy calls out, eyeing Alec who has moved to give Jace a quick squeeze in the shoulder, teasing remarks dying on his tongue as he looks up to meet his sister’s pointed look.

“If you want one on one time, you can get in line.” Alec tries to say seriously, but the quirk in his lips is uncontrollable, “I got first dibs for at least the next three years.”

Magnus smiles like something has softly struck his heart, and when Alec addresses him, he keeps it to himself. Alec grins, motioning to the man sitting before them. “Jace, you’ve met Mr. Young and Hot?” 

Jace shakes his head, laughing at the memory that replays in his mind. “How can I forget?” he says, pushing himself off his seat and offers a hand, “I’m glad to finally meet you with more dignity in me, Magnus.”

Magnus grins, big and true, heartily pressing an outstretched hand against the one presented to him. “You made a lasting impression, dignity withstanding.”

Alec snorts, “Not that there’s a lot to begin with.” It merits him a vengeful pinch in the arm (pinching seems to be a patented Lightwood sibling weapon of choice), which almost evolves into a mild scuffle that forces Maryse to scold-laugh them into settling down.

“Jesus, it’s like they’re not in their late twenties!” Maryse says under her breath as she settles back onto her seat.

“Maybe Magnus can refine these children into men.” Isabelle smirks from her seat, and both boys toss her looks of absolute yet overly-dramatized offense.

Magnus chuckles, unwrapping his scarf from his neck, “Isabelle, I’m flattered, but even I can’t perform miracles.”

The quick wit hits them both, and Jace’s eyes widens as he truly laughs—_so that’s how it is_—and Alec turns to Magnus with a look that is overly-scandalized and hyper-offended—_'scuse you_—to which Magnus only replies with a cheeky grin and a fond squeeze of the back of his neck. _Yes, darling_, the grin asks wordlessly, and just like that the feigned hysterics cracks instantaneously like it’s made of porcelain. It curls into a bright, unabashed smile.

They hear a sniff, and Alec sighs. “Mom, come on.”

“Okay, okay,” Maryse laughs, eyes glassy and hands in the air, “Gosh, I’m making a fool of myself, in front of Magnus nonetheless.”

Magnus smiles a smile that reaches his eyes. “Maryse, truly, you’re not. It’s quite adorable.”

Maryse chuckles, dabbing the corners of her eyes with her fingers. “Well, let’s get some food going before we famish ourselves. I hear you love a good pasta aglio e olio?”

Magnus’ eyes brighten, caught off guard that she even knows this information. “I do.”

“This restaurant has the best one I’ve tasted.” She says kindly, the warmth reaching the hazel of her eyes as she flips through the menu already laid on their table. She looks up momentarily to meet his gaze, speaking quite sheepishly, “To be quite honest, it’s the reason why I picked this restaurant for tonight.”

Magnus feels his cheeks warm in embarrassment, and it’s so unexpected of a reaction that even he himself is surprised at the sudden turn of events. “You didn’t have to, Maryse—” 

“No, I didn’t,” she says, smiling, “But I wanted to. Anyway, if you don’t mind a recommendation, they have a Luca Bosio that pairs wonderfully with their pasta aglio e olio.”

“That sounds amazing. I’ll get exactly that.” Magnus manages to say, thoroughly impressed to a point of near stutter.

“Lovely. Please, feel free to get anything else you’d like.” She grins, “More food, more time for interrogation.” 

Magnus laughs, still slightly red on the face, and Alec groans.

She turns to her daughter curiously. “Izzy? What are you thinking?” Maryse happily looks over at the dish Isabelle is poring over, a light back and forth between them.

“If you want something else, just say so.” Alec says, leaning into Magnus space slightly, “Don’t feel obliged.”

Magnus shakes his head, smiling. “No. It’s perfect.”

Alec smiles, giving Magnus’ hand a quick squeeze before turning to Jace and interrogating him on his order. Magnus watches momentarily, eyes fluttering softly at the faces around him like he’s seeing something so intrinsically new. He can’t help but admit the earnest feeling in his chest, one he hasn’t entertained in quite a while—one that he hasn’t thought he missed until he feels the presence of it around him.

Magnus smiles a soft smile.

_Feels like family._

Alec sits cross-legged on the wooden flooring of one of the smaller dance studios of NYCB, watching attentively at the scene before him.

Magnus has spent most of the morning at the barre with Ragnor leading him into several exercises, beginning with slow, and languid stretches that opens up his body and awakens his muscles, to advanced combinations of tendus, dégagés, and grand battements that make his breathing pick up and form beads of sweat across his forehead. They move from the barre to the middle of the floor, quickly going through, what it seems to Alec, short bursts of insanely complicated choreographies. Magnus watches with rapt attention as Ragnor rattles off French words, hands moving in front of him as if to map the steps out, and then nods with finality. Ragnor gestures towards their pianist, and Magnus executes each movement with flawless grace to the tune of a piece of music he probably hasn’t listened to before, and _again_ Alec feels like there’s nothing else in the world more beautiful than this.

“He’s bounced back from that injury faster than I can ever imagine.” Catarina murmurs beside Alec, fingers settling on her lips, “I would say he’s lucky, but I’m aware of the work he’s put in.”

“I’m nervous.” Alec admits, pressing onto the spot on his hand for the sixth time in a row, “How do you think he’ll do?”

Catarina presses her lips together. “Truly hard to tell. I’ve seen it go both ways.” She pauses, watching as Raphael walks towards Magnus and settles onto a knee, visually assessing the leg in question. “It’s all up to him now.”

Alec watches on as Raphael instructs Magnus to fully weight bear on the leg, fingers pressing against the exact spot of the tibial fracture, palpating for what Alec could assume is any shifting. With fingers still pushed against the spot, he then gets Magnus to hop onto the leg fully, concentrating on how the bone feels upon impact. 

“Feels okay?” Raphael asks, and Magnus nods, oddly silent, cycling his foot between states of plantar and dorsiflexion, keeping it relaxed and limber. “Give me a few sautés,” he mutters, and in response Magnus dips into a small plié that bolsters his jump. He repeats the movement a couple of times until Raphael asks for a sauté arabesque, which he does to perfection.

“Okay.” Raphael says, getting up to his feet, “We’re ready to go.”

“Simple,” Ragnor says as Magnus nods slightly, “Sauté arabesque, step, glissade, grand jeté, nice and easy.”

Magnus doesn’t show it, and it’s hard to spot on the graceful way he holds his body aloft, but Alec could feel the tension gripping him thoroughly. They’ve talked about this point in time many different ways, in many different places. They’ve both imagined what it’s going to feel and look like, for Alec to see it and for Magnus to finally execute it. It’s the last bit, the final hurdle that needs to be jumped over. After this, Magnus can officially—_finally_—come back. 

Ragnor steps back. “When you’re ready.”

It’s almost as if Alec could hear the exhale that Magnus lets tumble out of his lips. Everything inside Alec coils in nervous anticipation. And then it all happens as if time has been stretched taut, seconds slowing into minutes and minutes into hours. Magnus brings himself forward, jumping into the air in a statuesque arabesque and landing on one leg, gliding across the wooden flooring into a simple sauté that brings him high in the air, landing steadily on both feet and then—one monumental step brings his back leg swinging forward, front leg propelling his body up until he’s in a beautiful airborne split, arms postured splendidly before him. His once fractured leg catches him as he lands, steady and strong. 

Magnus breathes, eyes wide. He suddenly bursts into a laugh, near tears, and Alec jumps on his feet, clapping loudly because he doesn’t know what else to do. Magnus finds Alec’s eyes and he just about launches himself onto him, arms around his neck, hysterically laughing into his ear. They both crumple over, because they’re stupid and ridiculous and _happy_. 

“God, they never stop, do they?” Ragnor quips, but he’s chuckling, standing over the two-body pile on the wooden floor.

“It’s quite adorable.” Catarina grins.

“Congratulations, Bane.” Raphael smiles, hands on his hips. “As the clinical director of NYCB’s ballet healthcare department, I’m clearing you for immediate return to work.” His smile grows into a grin. “You’re officially back.”

Magnus laughs tearfully, shaking his head.

Alec grins, and holds the sight of it in his mind. He may not have been there to see the happiness in Magnus’ eyes when he first got into NYCB, but _this_—this, he decides, is just as good.

It’s when their waiter makes his exit and heads off to the kitchen that Maryse sets his eyes on Magnus, eagerly pressing both hands together and settling them on her chin, elbows propped onto the table’s surface.

“So, Magnus,” Maryse says, excitement evident in her voice, “Tell us about yourself.”

“You mean you haven’t snooped around?” Alec snickers, nursing the glass of Barolo he has in his hand.

Maryse chuckles, leaning her cheek against the back of her interspersed hand, grinning in slight embarrassment. “I might have. But I want to hear it straight from the source.”

Magnus presses his lips together, smiling. He steals a small glance from Alec in search for a bit of confidence, and the gentle grin that whispers _go on_ that he offers back does the trick. 

“Well, where do I start?” he laughs, fingers drumming against the foot of the wine glass he has settled back onto the table, “I sure hope you know my name at this point? And yes, that is really the name that I have on my birth certificate.” He squints an eye, looking at the ceiling in thought, “I’m not sure where in my Indonesian lineage the surname Bane weaseled its way in, but my father has always thought it stemmed from the Dutch occupation.”

“Have you ever been to Indonesia?” Maryse asks, and in the back of Magnus’ mind, he notes how impressed he is at how she’s managed to broach the immigrant issue as appropriately as she has. 

Magnus nods, smiling. “I came to the US when I was ten years old. I remember bits and pieces of it, but not enough to really have notable memories. I think the first thing that I really remember from then was going to school and just feeling unfathomably alone. You really can’t do much when you can barely speak the language. I think that’s why I was so taken by ballet, because when you dance, very seldom do you need words to say what you feel.”

“And you danced ballet ever since?” Maryse asks, completely enthralled.

“Yes,” Magnus answers, “I struggled to find a dance school in Alabama. It’s not quite the mecca of ballet, but it taught me what I needed to know. I remember bearing with the hard-handed teachers that I had until I found one who actually took the time to work with me.”

Maryse nods, following his words closely. “She must be good.”

“She trained in New York, and she was a New Yorker through and through.” Magnus laughs at the memory, “I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what brought her from the coast to the middle of this country. Somehow, she picked me out of everybody else and passed onto me everything she’s learned—like seeing me out-jump and out-dance every single kid in my class brings her personal joy. If not for her, I don’t think I would’ve had the skill to get into NYCB.”

Magnus turns to Alec, “You’ve met her, actually, the first time we went to Koch. Mary Beth.” Alec remembers the graceful way she approached Magnus that day, features beautifully lined with experience and age. He remembers the tight hug they shared. “She’s a principal guest teacher in the company.”

Alec nods. “She seemed really nice.”

Magnus smiles knowingly, and Alec is right there with him on the same harkened memory—a moment of weakness and what follows after. Magnus murmurs, “She got me through a lot of tough times.” 

Izzy exhales, pressing her red lips together at the thought. “Magnus, it must have been hard.”

Magnus could only chuckle at the memory, one that he’s stowed under the floorboards for a long time. “Being an Indonesian kid who didn’t speak much English in Alabama, of all places, was a literal nightmare. And truly, some children are just _awfully_ raised. It’s unbelievable what a child can do to another child when the adults around them don’t recognize what’s right and wrong.”

“God, of course they bullied you.” Jace mutters, and Magnus knows how close the story hits home for him. Alec has told him the stories of both their youths; spindly shoulders, one foot out of the closet, and the small hands that threatened to push Alec back. Jace is a protector, _his_ protector, and time hasn’t done one thing to change this. 

“They did.” Magnus acknowledges, letting a small smile sit on his lips. “Until I didn’t let them. Highschool boys think ballet is soft, when you actually need to be able to bench press double your weight at the very least.” Magnus laughs at the image the memory projects in his mind, “Do you know how light they are? They’re so easy to knock to the ground. They’re body composition is fifty percent baggy jeans, fifty percent insecurity and acne. I’ve lifted leaner, more muscular girls over my head.”

Alec places a hand on his heart, eyes closed and head tipped back, a grin on his mouth. “Oh, that story gets me every time.”

Jace snickers, hiding his face in his hands, the redness at the tips of his ears a telltale sign of the alcohol starting to work its magic. “Funny you mention baggy jeans..”

Alec snaps his head back up, and the velocity of how fast his features contort from absolute bliss to complete horror is truly impressive. “Jace.” Magnus watches with slight confusion as the situation before him unfolds.

Maryse touches her fingers to her lips, treading on the fine line between shock and laughter. “Oh, Jace, you didn’t.”

Izzy truly doesn’t care as she bursts into a full laugh, head tossed back, eyes squeezed closed. “Oh my god. Oh my god, I knew your fashion choices from high school will haunt you to this day!”

Magnus’ mouth takes on a slowly growing smile, eagerness gleaming in his eyes. “Is this what I think it is?”

“I needed to redeem myself from that horror story of a first meeting!” Jace laughs, retrieving his phone from his pocket and swiping it open. Alec just about lunges towards him, tree branch arms stretching forward to snatch the phone from his hands but Jace swiftly jumps onto his feet, completely out of reach.

Alec stumbles out of his chair with a noisy clatter, panic lighting up his face like Magnus has never witnessed before. “Jace, I swear to god I’m gonna _kill you_—” He grits out, trying for another lunge, but Jace is already right next to Magnus and depositing the phone into his awaiting hands.

Magnus looks down onto the screen, long and hard, eyes unmoving. Alec and Jace stills for a moment, their heaved breathing the only audible sound rising from their table. Magnus finally looks up from the photo pulled up on the screen, and when Alec meets his boyfriend’s eyes, his face _burns_ like a forest first not unlike the first time they met. 

“Darling,” Magnus manages to say, and the singular word breaks into an uncontrollable giggle that crumples him into a ball of pure laughter, “You—you were so cute!”

The chase has been officially lost and Alec groans painfully, slumping back onto his chair as he buries his face into his hands. Jace dumps himself back onto his seat, fingers pinched at the inner corners of his eyes as he tries to breathe through the string of laughter he can’t contain. Izzy clutches her heart, tears glistening in her eyes and threatening to ruin her perfectly flicked eyeliner. Maryse is giggling into her hand as she sneakily takes a video of them all.

“Literally, someone just kill me now.” Alec mutters in defeat, shaking his head as he presses his face deeper into his hands, “A coronary, a lightning bolt, spontaneous combustion—” 

Magnus somehow gets some modicum of control over his laughter and reaches over to peel Alec’s fingers from his face, settling his chin onto his slumped shoulder. “Come on now, love, you were so adorable.” He happily says, “Highschool me would have hit on highschool you. Dead on.”

Alec peeks one eye out grumpily. “Don’t lie to me.” He grumbles, “I know how you feel about acid-wash jeans.”

Magnus manages to pry a hand completely and the adorable, cranky pout he finds underneath should be considered illegal. He grins up at Alec from where he’s settled on his shoulder, fingers settling at the base of his neck. “I wouldn’t care. You could’ve looked like an N’SYNC and a Backstreet Boys reject all rolled into one and I would’ve fawned over you just the same.”

Alec squints an eye at him, apprehensive, but finally peels back the other hand that covered his face. He looks at Magnus accusatorily. “You owe me a high school picture of you when we get home.” He glares at Jace who snickers in response. “You watch your back.” Jace waves him away.

Magnus turns to Jace, grinning. “Consider your first impression erased in my mind, Mr. Wayland.”

Jace grins back. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Bane.”

Alec rolls his eyes. “Okay, enough.”

Magnus laughs, softly scratches at the nearest cheek within reach, and their conversation is halted by the plates of food being settled onto their table. He’s going to have to ask Jace for a copy of that picture, but that’s information Alec doesn’t have to know about.

“Alec!”

Alec looks up from where he’s seated and the first thing he sees is the bright red of Clary Fairchild’s elegantly pinned hair illuminated by the stage lights behind her. She grins at him, swooping down to give him a tight hug. He smiles, embracing back.

“Actually on time today Fray?” Alec asks, tone full of mirth.

Clary looks at the seat number on her ticket and settles herself onto on the seat beside him. “Oh shush, nobody ever died of tardiness.” She turns to him, a wide grin plastered on her face, hands pressed together against her chest as she barely holds down the squeal that comes out of her mouth. 

“This is so exciting! Can’t believe Magnus reserved half a row for us.” Clary says, eyes sweeping across the theatre, glistening in awe, “This place is so amazing.”

Alec laughs, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, pretty fancy stuff.”

David H. Koch Theatre almost feels like a second home to Alec thanks to the many times he’s decided to spend his days off visiting Magnus at work. He’s become quite the staple around the vicinity, and it shows in the way staff members have been acknowledging his presence more profoundly. He’s made himself familiar to the staff of the health suite, learning as much as he can off of Raphael and his inclination to teach. Catarina treats him with the same sweetness she usually reserves for Magnus, and Ragnor almost tolerates his presence in his rehearsal studios. Alec considers it a win; it’s not everyday he gets to stand by the pianist and the ballet master of the room in quiet admiration of the magic being made within it. Curious stares become welcoming greetings as the rest of the dance company grows accustomed to Alec’s place and presence within their rehearsal space. For all these people to make accommodations for him is not so much a testament of his growing popularity, but more so of how much they all purely adore Magnus. Alec sees it in the way they’ve held him dearly his first day back, or the way they rope him into fond conversations. And the way Magnus responds, with elation that fills him up from the corners of his eyes down to the tips of his toes, is proof that he feels the exact same way back. They would do anything for him, including break the rules.

But despite the many times Alec has seen the building, the interior of the theatre itself never ceases to bring out breathless awe from his lips. Its circular, multi-tiered architecture is something to behold, from the rows and rows of red velvet seats to the golden panels adorning the exterior face of the many balconies. The crowning jewel, it seems, is the ornate sphere of a chandelier hanging above their heads, punctuating the domed ceiling. The diamond moon to the theatre’s diamond sky. 

“Damn, Lightwood, you clean up nicely.” Someone teases, and it doesn’t take a genius to know it’s Jace. He gives Clary a quick hug before settling in the seat next to Alec.

Alec grins in response. “I would say the same for you, but I’m scared of what it’ll do to your ego.”

Jace laughs, “Shut up. Move over, Izzy’s coming soon, and you know she’s gonna make it difficult for us with the dress she’s wearing.”

“It’s a great dress!” Clary protests, and Jace snickers.

“I’m sure you think so, but doesn’t change the fact that it’s gonna take up half a damn seat to accommodate it.”

Alec turns to Jace. “Hey, have you talked to Magnus lately?”

Jace looks at him curiously. “Probably not as much as you’re talking to him? Why?”

“He says he’s got something up his sleeve for tonight.” Alec murmurs, ears catching the hum of the orchestra as several of its musicians do their last checks on their instruments, “Just wondering if he told you anything.” 

The lights above them dim slowly, bringing the entire theatre into darkness, the only source of light the curtained stage. Izzy gets to her seat in time, and Jace is right to leave the aisle seat to her and her elegant swish of red fabric against the floor.

“I guess we’ll know soon enough.” Jace whispers under his breath.

A light smattering of applause echoes within the hollow chamber as the chief conductor of the orchestra positions himself onto his podium. He holds his hands steady in the air, pausing, and with one swift motion brings the entire orchestra to life with the introduction music to Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty Op. 66. The sound of it buoys every single person within the theater into inexplicable elation, Alec including. As the piece slows in preparation for the next, the curtains sweep open, and it introduces the audience to an intricate, golden-hued dreamscape that will backdrop tonight’s performance. Majestic columns of porcelain white and gold rise from the stage, skyward, so impossibly high, as if it's to break the ceiling above it. Elaborate, metal gates twisting into elegant shapes stand at either side. A back drop of a castle harkening from renaissance France is painted in great detail at the very back, the sky a brilliant hue of blue. The corps de ballet is poised in their softly hued costumes, and they all move in graceful synchrony as the orchestra picks up again. Alec is sure Magnus is somewhere in there; he’s told him that Prince Florimund doesn’t come into the performance fully until act II, so it wouldn’t be a surprise that he’s playing another role until then. He sees the extensive facial hair glued onto the men’s faces and can’t help but chuckle to himself at the prospect of Magnus sporting a handlebar mustache and a goatee to match.

The ballet carries on, more beautiful than Alec could ever imagine, and he remembers how these performances are the same ones he’s watched being rehearsed within the four walls of Ragnor’s dance studio. The well-oiled machine of New York City Ballet and its home theatre has elevated it to its highest form of artistry, and Alec could only imagine the countless number of events that has to simultaneously occur in order to make something like this happen. He reminds himself to ask Magnus about the behind the scenes of it all. Before Alec realizes how much of the show has already passed, Princess Aurora pricks her finger, falls into a deep sleep, and takes the entire castle with her. When the curtain draws shut and the lights brighten again, Jace, Clary, and Izzy are picking their jaws off the floor. Alec laughs at the sight of it because that’s exactly what he's felt since the moment he saw Magnus on that NYCB pamphlet six months ago. Pure, unbridled awe. They go into a pretty heated discussion as to what the best part of act I is, and delves into another argument as to who Magnus played in it. 

The intermission passes and act II commences. A hundred-year time jump occurs between the two acts, and renaissance costumes turn to ones of mid-eighteenth century, and the difference is striking. The back drop of the castle in the back is old, dark, and covered with twisting vines. The rest of the ballet company comes out first, flitting about the stage in excitement, the music starting low and rising exponentially as if in anticipation of someone and Alec _knows_ this is it—and in time with the majestic swell of the orchestra, Magnus enters the stage in the lightest grand jeté Alec has ever seen, as if gravity is indeed defiable.

Alec smiles, one so wide that it almost hurts, and he has to press his fingers against his mouth to even have some semblance of control over it. Magnus looks beautiful, and Alec will never tire of saying the same thing over and over again. He would die with those words on his mouth.

Alec’s eyes flicker to the leg that used to be encased in a pink, bejewelled cast, once fragile and protected, now steady and strong. It catches Magnus’ weight with every jump like a promise to never break again. Alec’s gaze follows the beautiful line Magnus’ leg creates as it extends, and it leads down to a meticulously pointed foot—and Alec blinks. He squints, sitting straighter in his seat in disbelief, jaw growing slack at the realization.

Magnus is wearing pointe shoes. 

Every arabesque, développé, pirouette, done en pointe, while still executing intricate jumps with unparalleled strength—and his dance company watches him from where they sit at the outskirts of the stage, supportively, _proudly_. A challenge in their eyes. Whatever you have to say to him, you say to us. 

Alec breathes, glassy-eyed, and leans forward, elbows on his knees. He watches, and watches, and watches, mouth pressed against his hands, wanting and not wanting for this show to be over because there’s one place he has to be in this very moment. 

When the program finally finishes and everyone from the dancers on stage to the musicians in the orchestra pit have given their final bows, Alec swiftly gets up from his seat, leaving the others as they decide to wait out the initial wave of outgoing patrons. He maneuvers himself past the crowd and to the small staircase that leads back stage, and Roy from security gives him a pat on the shoulder as he hurriedly gives him a quick _hey_ back. He takes the familiar route to the main stage, and when it comes to view, he sees everybody still huddled behind the drawn curtain. 

Alec presses his lips together, biting down. He stays at the periphery, giving Magnus the space he needs to absorb such a momentous occasion. This is what he’s worked for since he slipped young, inexperienced feet into an old pair of Catarina’s pointe shoes. To dance en pointe, not under the guise of comedic roles that falsely boast of inclusion, but as a proud man. This isn’t the Magnus Alabama has forced out of his own home. This Magnus has his feet planted into the pavement of New York , unmoving, unbending—_no, **you** move._

Magnus is at the heart of the crowd of dancers, musicians, stage crew, face lit with absolute elation, eyes glassy with almost-tears, as he profusely thanks every single member of his company for standing with him tonight. They joke about the comments that’s going to filter through the grapevine soon—_New York City Ballet defiles ballet classic with leftist agenda as male principal dancer goes en pointe_—and they wave it off, unfazed. _Whatever they say to you, they say to us._

He unconsciously catches Magnus’ eyes, and he brings his hands up—_stay, I’ll wait_—but Magnus is already making his way like he's found that singular light at the end of the tunnel as he just about leaps into Alec’s arms with so much force it knocks both of their breaths off their chests. Alec tightly, breathlessly returns the embrace, palms flat against Magnus’ back, as if trying to press into skin the words he can’t quite say. _I’m immeasurably proud of you. I will forever stand by you with everything you do. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be but here._

“I love you.” Alec murmurs instead.

Magnus sniffs, nodding. “I love you too.”

Magnus commits it to memory: three glasses of wine, and the Lightwoods go_into it_.

“No, no, no,” Alec says with his brow furrowed, words drawn out that it’s_ this close_ to a drunken drawl, finger accusatory in the air, “You can’t tell me nurses need to take it easy when docs literally jump on our throats to get something done in five seconds.”

Jace’s eyes bug out, and he sits straighter in his seat, wine glass in hand. “If you don’t want orders right away, don’t page us five times in a row!”

Alec grabs his from the table incredulously, “If you just answered the page the first time, we wouldn’t have to page the other four.”

“Sorry for not being able to call your unit back a millisecond after you page us,” Jace’s voice escalates, motioning his wine glass in a gesture, “There’s a little thing called the rest of the hospital that also needs our attention!”

Alec scoffs, “Oh please—”

“What, you wanna get into it tonight?”

“Bring it on, tough guy, let me hear it.”

Magnus laughs as he takes the wine glass from Alec’s hand; he’s watched the swing of his arm grow bigger and bigger every time he makes a gesture, and it would hurt Magnus’ heart thoroughly to see wine stains on an Armani jacket. Izzy rolls her eyes fondly and does the same, sneakily moving Jace’s glass a good foot away from the radius of his wild gesticulations. 

Magnus leans forward, whispering, “I’m surprised you’re not participating in this debate.” He tells Izzy, who giggles at the thought.

“Gotta keep it even.” She whispers back, “Two against one is pretty brutal.”

Magnus turns to Maryse, who’s chuckling thoroughly at the sight of his two boys bickering. “Sitting this one out as well?”

She leans forward, smiling cheekily. “I’m more of a mediator.”

Magnus looks on as Alec and Jace’s descent into a mildly heated argument about hospital politics, their eyes rolling in annoyance while hands motion in the air to accentuate points. He leans into his chair, amusement in his eyes as he watches the intricacies of Jace’s and Alec’s relationship, so abundantly clear even through the noise of their argument. Alec with Jace is loud, obnoxious, and unrelentingly sharp-tongued, and Jace returns this with his own brand of wit that puts them both on the either side of a balanced scale. With Jace, Alec isn’t afraid to be harmlessly rude, like he knows whatever happens in this conversation won’t bleed into the next, or used as ammunition in the future. It’s a dynamic that is formed with time, and Magnus could almost imagine the same verbal heat in a different argument about simpler things. Scrappy Jace and perpetually annoyed Alec fighting over the who has the better action figure, or something equally as ridiculous. It’s a thought that is funny as it is outrageously adorable. 

Alec fumes, “You guys give us so much attitude when we need to call during night shifts—” 

Jace sits up even straighter than he did before, scandalized. “What do you expect from someone who’s sleeping on a scrappy couch ten other people probably dunked their butts on?!”

Alec inhales, fingers pressed against his temples as if a migraine has settled there, and with every ounce of his escalating irritation he just about yells, “It’s literally what you’re paid to do!”

Jace puffs up like an angry bird and his rebuttal stirs in him like an incoming storm. “_Some people are paid to clean sewers, doesn’t mean they like shit! _”

“Okay, okay, settle down, boys.” Maryse soothingly says, hands outstretched before here in a placating manner, “We’re getting a bit heated over here.”

Alec and Jace breathes, in through the nose, out through the mouth, hands scrubbing against cleanly shaven faces and loose locks of hair. They both look around the table to Izzy, Maryse, and Magnus, all of them looking on with amusement as they try to recall the last thing they’ve said before their little debate almost rolls into a dumb yelling match. 

“What the hell were we talking about?” Alec asks aloud, looking around, his eyes landing on Magnus’ imploringly.

“Grey’s Anatomy, love.” Magnus says, words enveloped in a light chuckle that reaches his eyes.

Alec blinks, and then explodes in loud laughter. He wheezes, hand on his heart, “_Doesn’t mean they like shit.. _”

Jace pinches the bridge of his nose, laughing. “Oh my god.”

“That’s it,” Alec just about cries, tears forming in his eyes, “No more shop talk while drinking.”

Magnus grins, somewhat impressed at tonight’s revelation, “Three glasses of wine. Good to know.”

“Hey,” Alec breathes, laugh finally fading into a snicker, “I’m no lightweight.” 

“Of course.” Magnus nods reassuringly, raising a hand to deposit soft pats on his cheek, the gentle sarcasm in his eyes already drawing another string of laughter from Alec’s mouth.

Jace leans forward, tapping a hand. “Okay, well, can we all at least agree in this table that Grey’s Anatomy sucks?”

“Cheers.” Izzy says, raising her glass.

They all raise their glasses in response, Alec snickering as he clinks his empty wine glass onto everybody else’s. Izzy takes a sip of her own glass of white before noticing that Magnus hasn’t raised his. Her eyes bug out, cutting her sip short, almost choking on the wine she’s tipped into her mouth. _Oops_, Alec thinks knowingly, steeling himself for the incoming onslaught.

“Oh my god.” Izzy gasps after a few forceful coughs, “No, Magnus.”

Magnus smiles sheepishly, hands upturned at either side in an apologetic shrug. “I might have enjoyed an episode or two.” 

“Oh, Magnus,” Maryse sighs, hand on the heart, a teasing gleam in her eyes, “I knew somebody as perfect as you would have some skeletons in his closet.”

Magnus laughs a true laugh, eyes two perfect crescents. “I know, I know, it’s a travesty.”

“Well, I for one am I glad to know you _can_ do something wrong.” Jace says, a smirk lacing his lips. “Man is just human, after all.”

“Magnus, the human bomb though,” Izzy almost pleads, as if the revelation is sending her into a downward spiral, “The plane crash, the storm-splosion..”

“You have to admit there’s entertainment value in absurdity.” Magnus grins, and Izzy makes a show of slumping on her chair, feeling faint.

“I knew there was something that will drive us apart.” She mumbles, “The perfect friendship doesn’t exist.”

“And you?” Jace prods an accusatory finger on Alec who has mysteriously grown somewhat quiet, “What do you have to say about all this?”

Alec shrugs. “I still hate it.” 

“But you watch it.” Jace confirms.

“Yeah,” Alec says, mulling a thought, “I guess I hate the show, but I love him more.”

The chain reaction of those words leaving his mouth is monumental. Jace clutches his chest like he’s been shot, painfully curling into himself as he groans under his breath. Izzy quite literally bounces onto her seat, as if she hasn’t been wasting away at the thought of Magnus liking a medical show only a few minutes ago. Maryse is fully crying at this point.

“Oh, god,” Jace groans, “That was too sweet it actually _hurt_.”

“Literally who are you and what have you done to my brother!” Izzy actually squeals, hand pressed against her cheeks, “I can’t believe this!”

Maryse says nothing because she can’t say anything at the moment, so she dabs at the corners of her eyes instead.

“Okay, settle down, Jesus.” Alec just about hollers, a beat away from a laugh.

He turns to look at Magnus, _what the hell is happening_, only to find him already gazing at him with eyes as gentle as a breeze and as warm as the sun. The gaze curls its tendrils through rib and sinew and it holds Alec’s heart in his chest, cradling it with what he could only describe as pure, unbridled happiness. Magnus is grinning so hard three words bleed through.

Alec smiles back and threads their fingers together under the table, pressing the same words back into the palm of Magnus’ hand.

“God they’re holding hands, please—”

Alec laughs, kicking Jace at the shin. “Fuck off!” 

Jace cry-laughs in pain as he cradles his bruised leg, Izzy shakes her head in wondrous disbelief, and Maryse giggles at the sight of all of them, a hand on her heart. Magnus chuckles at the childish scuffling at his left and the glassy eyes at his right. He doesn’t think he could feel any happier. 

_Truly_, Magnus thinks and laughs at the same time as he tries to placate another incoming argument starting to brew between Jace and Alec, _there’s nothing like a Lightwood family dinner_.

One day, just shy of a year after they’ve met, Alec and Magnus sit on opposite sides of the couch, backs against the armrests, toes touching under their shared blanket.

Alec is flipping through a book he just picked up from the library, and Magnus is sipping the cappuccino he brings in from their favorite café. He watches as Alec flips a page, squinting slightly as he tiredly rubs his fingers against his eyes. 

Alec’s coffee is still warm in his cup, steam curling soft lines into the air.

“Move in with me.” Magnus says, straightforward and simple.

Alec blinks up from his book, the words sinking ever so slowly into his bleary mind.

A smile grows on his face, one that could rival the sun for dominance in the sky. He tries not to show it, but when he speaks, emotion scratches at his throat. 

“Let me think about it.” Alec tries to say seriously, and Magnus, laughing freely, grabs at his shirt and pulls a grinning fool into a kiss. 

They step out of Il Buco warm and fuzzy, the alcohol in their bloodstreams protecting them from the chilly breeze that autumnal New York reserves for when the sun has dipped into the horizon. Magnus wraps his scarf around his neck twice, and Alec upturns the lapels of his coat. The laughs that they release in the air come out as puffs of condensation, billowing along with their words.

Maryse grins, lifting both shoulders and slumping them down again in a gesture. “This has been the most fun family dinner I’ve had in a long time.”

Alec looks at her, surprised, a laugh formed around his words. “Did you just say your children are absolute bores?”

“No, not at all.” Maryse teases, “Just that Magnus is more interesting.”

“First day and already has a new favorite.” Alec says, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “I see how it is.”

Izzy wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, mom, you can’t just kick me out of my spot after a day of meeting Magnus.”

Alec snorts. “You can’t get kicked out of a spot you never owned, Izzy.”

Izzy scoffs, hands deep into her pocket, “And who, pray tell, are you saying owns the spot?”

Alec looks at her like she’s deluded. “Me, of course.”

“Oh, please, what a sad-ass lie.”

Jace rolls his eyes. “The sad-ass lie is you both thinking you’re even on that list when I exist.”

Alec rolls his eyes back, waving him away. “Real kids only.”

“You fucker—” Jace laughs, the buzz in his brain making him jump clean onto Alec’s back, and they both squabble like the little children that they are. Magnus laughs for what it seemed like the hundredth time tonight. The sight of it is just _so ridiculous_.

Maryse waves both of them away, turning gleefully towards Magnus and taking him into her arms. “It was so nice meeting you, Magnus.” She says warmly, before stepping back and offering him a wary look, like she’s nervous as to how he is going to take the words she’s about to impart, “I hope you don’t mind me saying this. I know Alabama is a long way from New York, and I know how much this city could make lonely people out of those who go through life alone.”

Magnus blinks, taking in the words slowly. 

“You don’t just have Alec.” She says softly, “You have us, too.”

Magnus lets the flood gates open slightly, just enough to let him feel what the words truly means, but not too much that it reopens old wounds he hasn’t even fully exposed to anyone yet. He smiles, gentle and true. “Thank you. I’m lucky to have your son.”

Maryse winks. “He’s lucky to have you, too.”

“Okay, okay, get off me, both of you!” Alec whines, tapping at both Jace and Izzy’s arms that have found their way onto his neck, “Damn gremlins!”

“That’s rich coming from a talking tree!” Izzy retorts, digging a finger into his side, drawing a strangled yelp from him. 

Magnus walks up to them, grinning, a hand settled on the small of Alec’s back. “Love, taxi’s here.”

Izzy bounces on her heels to make herself taller, arms already open wide. “Gimme a hug! Next Wednesday’s a go?”

Magnus pins her gently against his chest, chuckling, “Wouldn’t miss it.”

When Isabelle lets him go, Jace offers his hand, which Magnus takes with a small smile. “See you around?” he says, and Magnus gladly nods. “Of course, Jace.” Jace pulls Magnus into a quick hug and it takes most of them by surprise. Alec watches curiously as Jace whispers something in Magnus’ ear, and when they part, he studies Magnus’ face for any telling signs. All he finds is a sunny smile that makes him feel like there’s a hint of morning in the dead of the night.

“Goodnight, you awful people!” Alec teases as he waves to his family, following Magnus who’s ducked into the taxi first, “Call you guys tomorrow.”

Magnus leans over and waves his goodbyes, and when they pull away from the curb, collapses back onto his seat with a happy huff. Alec slides down his seat with a groan and settles his head against Magnus’ shoulder. He closes his eyes momentarily. 

“My stomach feels funny.” He murmurs, “Wanna get some tea?”

Magnus settles his chin onto the top of Alec’s head, looking out the window of their car. “Café should still be open.”

Alec nods, eyes still fluttered close. 

When they pass through the familiar doors they're met with a waft of espresso in the air, and there is no one in the small, cozy space. Jordan looks up from behind the counter gives them a friendly wave before turning towards the espresso machine. Magnus makes Alec sit on their favorite booth by the back, and comes back with two mugs of earl gray, steam curling from both surfaces. 

Alec takes a grateful sip and leans his head onto the wall, letting the liquid warm his throat. He smiles, watching as Magnus slip into the same side of the booth with him, encasing his mug around both hands before taking a small sip. It’s a habit Alec has always noticed of him. 

“So, was that too much?” Alec asks, trying to think about every single godforsaken thing that has happened in this one night. He raises an arm invitingly, and Magnus fits himself under the crook of his arm, temple against the chest, ear pressed against a thumping heart. 

Magnus snickers, shaking his head. “It definitely was. And I loved every single second of it.”

For what is seemed like the hundredth time tonight, Alec releases an unbridled laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners like they always do. Magnus has always found it difficult to stop himself from touching those lines when they appear. 

“What were you and Jace talking about before we left?” Alec asks, taking another sip. 

_Thank you. For making him this happy. Thank you._ Magnus smiles. “Things. Like the stash of high school-you pictures he has in his possession.”

“Oh god,” Alec whines, recoiling at the thought, “Come on.”

“I’m going to ask for it.” Magnus says, grinning.

“No.”

“Yes,” Magnus presses on with glee, and then suddenly, his expression shifts. “Oh my god. There were no dick jokes tonight.” He realizes, “None from you, or from every one else. What a miracle.”

Alec snickers, pulling up his phone. “Yeah, negative on that one.”

Under Izzy’s name, a screenshot of Jace and Izzy’s message thread has been sent to Alec, and Magnus reads through the three conversation bubbles in the picture.

Magnus breaks into a side-splintering laugh, curling deeper into the crook of Alec’s arm, and they both yelp at the splash of tea that spatters onto their clothing. “Oh, darling, your Armani jacket!” Magnus half groans, half laughs, taking a napkin and patting it dry with same furiousness Alec would use when it comes to walking down his unit on a particularly busy day. Remarkable how the Jace that hugged him tightly and thanked him quietly is the same Jace that called dick an after-dinner snack. It draws another wheezy laugh from Magnus' mouth. 

“It’s fine,” Alec snickers, “I’ll send it out to get dry cleaned.”

Magnus sighs, leaning back into his spot within the half-circle of Alec’s arm, setting his mug onto the table. He feels the weight of tonight’s dinner dissipate from his shoulders, good manners and pleasantries coming off him like a jacket being shrugged off, and finally, he allows himself a sneaky grin. 

“He’s not wrong though.” He smirks, “I could use something sweet.”

“Oh, _now_ you’ve got sexual innuendos?” Alec laughs, “How convenient for you.”

“Right time and right place, darling.” Magnus takes another sip from his mug, grinning.

Alec peers down at him, watching carefully as he waits for a gulp. “Yeah, drink up. You’ve got a lot more of that to do when we get home.”

Magnus chokes, and Alec, for the hundredth and one time tonight, truly laughs. 

One day, two years after _you can take care of me any way you want, Alec_ and _how cute is your nurse today, would you say_, the bell chimes overhead as the door of Little Sweet Café swings open and Magnus steps in. It’s drizzling just the slightest outside, and it peppers the surface of Magnus’ camel-colored coat with dark dots.

A smile easily quirks at his lips as Magnus sees Alec already settled in their usual spot, muttering a response to somebody over his phone, black coffee steaming in a mug before him. Alec’s eyes light up as he ends his phone call, pushing the cappuccino towards Magnus’ direction. Magnus reaches over and gives him a grateful kiss on the cheek, slips into the booth, shrugging a layer off his shoulders. 

“How’s work, love?” Magnus asks, both hands pressed against the warm surface of his cup, “Anything come out of that meeting with that chief medical officer?”

Alec leans back onto his seat. “Well, we aired our grievances out as civilly as we can. There were no promises made, but they did assure us they’ll keep our requests in the forefront when they do negotiations.”

“Getting that meeting was a big deal, Alexander, and you made that happen. Not all charge nurses stand up to management the way you do.” Magnus says warmly and the same warmth fills the expression in his eyes, “I’m proud of you.”

Alec smiles a true smile. “Thank you.” He breathes out, reaching out for his mug, “How about you? How’s work?”

“More of an annoyance than it needs to be.” Magnus says, rolling his eyes slightly. “Somebody’s back from his stint at the Royal Opera Ballet.”

“God, Lorenzo’s back?” Alec groans, brow furrowing in annoyance, “Yeah, I’ll be steering clear of NYCB for a while.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary.” Magnus answers, waving the idea away, “Let him say his snide remarks. Nobody listens to him anyway.”

Their conversation shifts in a right angle, going from Lorenzo to the bizarre occurrence that Magnus has witnessed on the A train that morning, and Alec listens on, fingers playing at the ceramic surface of his mug. He watches as slightly khol-lined eyes widen in surprise, hands gesturing in the air in that elegant way it always does. Alec laughs at the story, eyes crinkling into lines as he plants a hand on his heart, while Magnus doubles over in his own seat. Jordan looks at them from the counter like they’re two lunatics, teasingly calling out for them to calm down because _not everyone wants to hear how damn in love you two are. _

Alec breathes, trying get a hold of himself, shaking his head as Magnus wipes actual tears from his eyes. It’s been two years of _this_, but not just this—of arguments they now know how to curb, of mismatched schedules they’re trying to work their way around, of not going to bed angry at each other. But it’s also been two years of climbing each other’s mountains together, of celebrating wins and mourning losses side by side. It’s been two years of sitting in the same booth of this one café, laughing like lunatics, wiping tears from their eyes.

It’s been two years since _you can take care of me any way you want, Alec_ and _how cute is your nurse today, would you say_. Since room 34, five-minute handshakes, and a pink, bejewelled cast. Since night shift story-tellings, and storage closet kisses. 

_Shit_, Alec thinks fondly, as if he’s never thought this singular thought before when it has been in a constant loop in his head since the moment he felt the words knock against in his chest,_I love him._

Magnus blinks. “What? Something on my face?”

Alec brings his eyes to Magnus and smiles, shaking his head. “Just thinking.”

“Well, I’ll take anything and everything you’ll give me.” Magnus says warmly, a memory from so long ago, “I’m happy to have it all.”

Something softly strikes at Alec’s heart, and he smiles.

It’s been two years since _you can take care of me any way you want, Alec_ and _how cute is your nurse today, would you say_. They sit in that little booth, in that little café, in that little spot in Brooklyn. Alec plays at the loose threads of his pocket, fingers curling against a smooth, cool surface. 

With a throttling heart in his chest and lungs that won’t expand, he murmurs, “Hey.” 

Magnus looks up. 

Alec breathes out a laugh, palm presented. “In agreement, in argument, in shit.”

Storm clouds break in half as the sun shines softly on Magnus’ lips. He nods, chuckling as he sniffs, and the sky rejoices in hues of orange and pink. “In agreement, in argument, in shit.” 

They kiss and everybody quick enough to catch on breaks into applause. It takes one phone call from Jordan and everybody spills from behind closet doors and underneath counter spaces, crowding around them like a tight embrace. Maryse holds them both in her arms like there’s nothing else that matters in this world, and Jace and Izzy piles onto the tangle of arms. Alec yells and laughs at the same time _god, let us breathe over here_, and Magnus couldn’t do anything but break into a laugh that pinches at the corners of his eyes. Magnus sees Ragnor, Raphael, and Catarina standing by the back, smiling knowingly like they’ve lent more than their presence to the execution of this plan. A loud chorus of cheers erupt from outside, and surprise widens Magnus’ eyes at the sight of his entire dance company spilling into the streets of Brooklyn, unfazed by the gentle rain that befalls on them. _Oh my god, Alexander_, Magnus looks back at Alec, gaze glassy, thoroughly impressed. Alec grins back at him; _please, you underestimate me_. 

Magnus laughs, thoroughly, blissfully, and the sound of it reaches straight into Alec’s chest, warming it with sunlight.  
  
Magnus scratches at the closest cheek, and Alec kisses at the closest palm, and they kiss like comets kiss the surface of the earth, stars aligning, galaxies catching, and the universe, in all it’s omnipotence—rejoices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for your lovely comments and all the kudos. I cherish each and every one dearly.  
Again, I'm @nhixxie on twitter, and I post under the #aox3fic tag.  
See you in the next one. :)
> 
> \- Nhixxie


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